Friday, July 29, 2005

Of Blue

The air is thick with something I can’t quite define.

There is desolation in chaos and clutter, too much of it. I do not live in a messy, unclean house, I simply could not. Home, IKEA, Places With Books - the one trinity I believe in. We all have temples, they are all to be revered. I live, however, in a house that often bests me. It is endearing how objects come out to dance overnight, how they swiftly breed and pup when you’re not looking. Endearing and overwhelming. Mine is not a case of ingrained disorganisation. I do in fact need order and tidiness to thrive. When book piles and unfiled papers and unfolded clothes reach a certain level - for a certain level must also be allowed, museums make for very poor housing - I am frantically driven to make it all better. I know that there is a very thin red line between Comfortably Lived In and Beyond Bearable, one I am forced to ride over and over again, for lack of proper storage.

I have often thought, sometimes said, that I would love to live in an aquarium with books. This isn’t easily understood. There is one room that is absolute sanctuary, my bedroom. No TV, no desk, sanctuary. In my bedroom it must always be Shabbat, the madness and demands of the outside world receding and allowing my fingertips to be longer than the rest of me, they could touch anything, go anywhere. In my case, and this might surprise you, sanctuary is mostly white w deep blue accents. THIS blue:

This is the colour that single-handedly allows me to breathe. My obsession with it is an old thing. My mother tells me that I refused to be clad in anything but blue from a very early age. Much like my bedtime stories, the clothing colour scheme was not allowed to change. That was surely one of the very first necessary maternal lies, the tedious morning ritual of assuring me, at an age when I didn’t even know the colours yet, that every single thing I was wearing was, of course, blue. I would then go abt my business fully content. A tad neurotic, but content. As phases go it didn't last too long, but it had long-lasting consequences.

Mother also tells me, and that would explain it to a great extent, that cobalt blue was the exact colour of my eyes when I was born and that as a baby people always commented on it because it was so unusual and even bizarre. Blue, blue, blue, blue. BLUE. Lorenz and Tinbergen, behold the colour-imprintee.

Humans live best when each has his place to stand, when he knows where he stands in the scheme of things and what he may achieve. Destroy the place and you destroy the person.
Bene Gesserit Teaching

Dune. Rarely, if ever, can I say this: both perch on the branches of my soul, both the film and the book. One long, slow rapture, both are home, a desert full of me. I’ve never much fancied places with an abuse of greenery, trees and leafy hills. I like arid landscapes, I like that my eyes can see there and beyond and the air sometimes is so hot it trembles before you, nearly palpable. House Atreides of the sea, and Arrakis and the spice. Perfect.

The Fremen were supreme in that quality the ancients called spannungsbogen - which is the self-imposed delay between desire for a thing and the act of reaching out to grasp that thing.
--from The Wisdom of Muad'Dib by the Princess Irulan

And there among the Fremen I found the eyes of Ibad, all blue, blue-in-blue, the Fremen who dream of water and ride the worm. In a different way, it was not dissimilar to what I felt my first time in Israel, where I viscerally knew, for the first time in my life, what it felt like to be one of us. The Fremen were Blue, phosphorescently so.

My dream house was, of course, blue, furnished mostly in blue, populated with transparent cobalt blue objects that would allow the light through in that heart-stopping liquid way. I have been known to buy things simply bcs they were the right colour. They say my name, I heed. What am I to do with the milk pan now? Bought in the Old City in Jerusalem and never used - but rightly blue, and therefore rightly mine. One day in 2003 I realised it simply must no longer be. Much like our food, our souls are healthier when fed a varied regimen. My living-room is looking pretty in white, red, aubergine and light wood. My office is white, orange and pink. My kitchen is metallic grey, apple green and deep blue. I live better in a more colourful world. My baby eyes have finally come into their own and are taking adult steps.

And yet. I still have a deep need for transparent cobalt blue glass, always will. I too breathe through my eyes in a very narrow UV range. Sun rays through cobalt blue glass are, to me, a truly mystical experience. That’s where I go to to lick my wounds, or celebrate the fact that there aren’t any.

There is a sparse but vivid tranquillity within me tonight. No good reason for it to be so really. The last few days studying for the last exam were gruesome. I am tired. Bone-tired. I haven’t had a holiday since 2001 and no amount of blue can change what that is doing to me. At the risk of surprising you again I could tell you the night before my exam I couldn’t fall asleep. I slept for an hour and a half, wrote my exam, could barely stay awake on the ride home - and then couldn’t fall asleep at all until 7 pm. And then 8 pm. And then 10 pm. And then I was up at 3.30, and fell sleep again at 6 am, and woke up at 11 am absolutely exhausted and disoriented. To celebrate what will be a 10-day period of freedom from studying (9 exams coming up in September), I decided to clear some room for the most important books. I long ago ran out of book space, they rest in triple rows and cause me perpetual guilt. My poor, poor books. Many a trip was taken from the flat into the basement to line the least favourite ones (more guilt) along the shelves amidst much sneezing and throat-constricting [for we are the mites and we rule as one]. I have been tired and snappy and miserable and was even more tired and snappy and miserable by the end of it.

But see, there is desolation in chaos and clutter, too much of it. And by tidying up I achieve something more important than simple physical rest - a clear mind. Clean chakras. Good vibes. Call it what you like, my home will be more so after I’m done. And, since I believe in sending Life the right message, this is my bottle at sea, I need a new office, a fitting one, a space where studying and working can be an open joy, see how I’m working towards it, now please send a cheque, 1/3 of the Trinity beckons.

I am also telling Life there is space in mine for all the good things that it has to offer, so it chooses to.

There is a vivid tranquillity within me, at the core, at all times.


Monday, July 25, 2005

Dx of Comp Prob - UPDATE

It wasn't a virus. No, no virus.

May I present the culprit? This, mostly:

Guileless J.I.P.

And partially this, looking appropriately chastised:

Chastised Papoila

Cat hair.

Copious amounts of cat hair, and the odd dog one. Pet hair in the 75 Euro range. That's how much I paid the nice men to hoover my computer's innards. That's how much they say I'll probably be paying every 6 months or so.



NOTE: Am an absolute scatterbrain, kept reminding myself to add a note to the post abt the pics and clearly, it didn't work. Have not been checking my blog so much, only now realised I had forgotten it after all. These pics were taken by Beth. The Nerdster w the videoclips in her blog. My hero. [I know it's the male form, I like it better] Sorry abt that Beth, I even meant to ask you if I could post them then decided to be autocratic bcs you surely wouldn't mind but then forgot abt everything. Now, J.I.P. (Jewish Israeli Princess) often looks like that. The reason the dog looks like someone stole her will to live is bcs she is trapped in a car w a camera facing her. Cameras are highly dangerous objects and should be feared. Therefore, she does, and no amount of positive reinforcement can convince her otherwise. For those of you who care, I will now reply to the 21 comments. Also, am behind on emails, couldn't tackle them during exams, sorry. Promise I will soon.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Purge the soul

File under this.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Life at 6 am

Woke up at see-above bcs of a nightmare involving You-Know-Who and that Lucy character in Anne River Siddons' Peachtree Road [Why are all the books I've been reading lately abt Atlanta?]. It was the sort of nightmare that was all abt death, where you'd rather have a miserable day on very little sleep than risk more of the same. Woke up thinking he was dead and I had to do something. Then remembered he is and I can do nothing. So awake, so not happy abt it.

Funnily enough, watched the pilot of Dead Like Me last night. Very interesting. (But I don't think Uzi would ever be an undead so don't have to worry abt bumping into him and not recognising him.)

I injured my left index finger in my sleep and it's swollen, throbbing and painful, makes for very slow typing. It is bothering me stupidly, what on earth can I have done to it?

I've had enough of testes to last me a lifetime. Make sure to keep your seminiferous ducts open at all times. Also, avoid knots in your testicles if at all possible. Trust me.

Will watch Super Size Me today, if I behave. Behaving means I will be able to yap abt things like testes without hesitation. Someone heard me up [is this German?] yesterday regarding skin diseases and I'm sort of ok. He'd pass me, he says. He'd have to, after quizzing me on things I hadn't studied yet despite my having marked it and nearly giving me a panick attack. As much as I can muster panick these days, that is.

[CENSORSHIP REQUIRED] So I first went to the big bookshopto buy the new Harry Potter and at 22.35 there was a line already. I didn't feel like standing there till all the cows came home and decided that it would be [SAME THING. BOUGTH NEW HARRY POTTER IS WHAT'S IMPORTANT.]

Can I rant abt Harry Potter yet?


Sunday, July 17, 2005

Speaking of Jews...


Nice AND original. That must be why we never see these clips on oh-I-don’t-know, BBC? CNN? Every country's TV networks? That must be it.

Yes, Jews = Nazis, yes, Jews are solely responsible for corrupting and bringing down the British and French Empires, the Russian tsar, the murder of all our prophets and the occasional solar eclipse.

The apocalypse will NOT come from the skies, unexpectedly.

The apocalypse will be initiated by those we harboured and fed and taught, by those for whose civil liberties we fought, those we naively called our own. The enemy is within us.

The Western world will one day wake up and realise there are NO
buts, buts are NEVER acceptable.

The Western world will one day understand there areNO negotiation venues, NONE, for they wish not to negotiate. Their goal is the annihilation of every single Jew (they’re tree-huggers at heart though, as it turns out) and absolute, unequivocal World domination, especially the U.S. I couldn't make this shit up, watch the clip.

The Western world will one day have to rise as one against these sick fuckers and that day is closer than most dare to think. So much easier to attribute our own motivation to the motivation of those who move in spheres so dark and alien to us we cannot even begin to imagine it. And for the most part, those who can, indeed, begin to imagine it stop it immediately for it is entirely too terrifying and bleak.

But I did research in Ethology and I am here to tell you that ostriches do NOT bury their hand in the sand - why should you? It is not their concern anymore you know, whoever that they may be, it is ours. Everything is plural nowadays, the Islamists have made sure of that. It is them against the rest of the world, it is personal and it is deadly. And they don’t care who dies in the process, did you notice? Even if it is other Muslims, women and children. You are no longer safe anywhere, do you think that you can talk them out of it? I understand why you would want to but good luck with that. No, really.

I am bone-tired of the bullshit surrounding what can’t be fixed, it WILL come to a global war, and people are still desperately trying to believe that PC speeches and actions and acceptance of every single ethnic trait, even if it means pretending not to notice, say, honour killings, is the road to all of us living happy as one. You have no idea how bad it can be. One day soon you will.

In the meantime, why don’t we all join hands and sing “Father and Son”?

Saturday, July 16, 2005

The Half-Blood Prince - So It Begins

I promise NO SPOILERS, will be cryptic.


23.30 - Positioned myself and my lethal weapons in front of bookshop (was v smart, went to a diff bookshop where I was the single client, YEY, no lines!)

23.43 - Entered shop and started pacing

23.59 - Started paying for book

00.05 - Sitting in car ready to drive home

00.11 - Got home miraculosuly without having run over anybody

1.11 - p.94 already, I will finish this book bfr I go to bed!!!

- Still cannot believe book is shorter than the other one, WHY??
- In the English edition (Bloomsbury for children) Harry looks demented, they must have changed artists
- First few paragraphs didn't bode too well but then it picked up
- p. 28 - WTF?? I KNEW IT! Oh the bloody wanker!

And will now go back to reading. I'll probably be finished bfr you lot get your hands on it. Will maybe update as story unveils but, again, promise NO SPOILERS. Will not be cruel and mean. Will just quietly gloat - and curse the bloody Kiwis and Aussies who should be finished by now, sod them!

1.27 - Loverboy talked to me. Make him stop.

1.37 - He's doing it AGAIN

p. 125 - The little shit, how fitting!

p. 132 - It was like having friends - *SNIFF*

1.58 - Was asked: "Is David dating anyone?" Don't know, don't care, don 't talk. Will sew his mouth shut yet

p. 146 - Oh hell, now he knows abt it!

2.26 - Oh no! Feeling a bit... sleepy - NOOO! Must find out what he'll teach him, must find out!

3.48 - Am tired of guzzling Coke. Gah!

p. 264 - Abt time, children!

p. 272 - Oh NOW you wake up, Harry.

p. 372 - CLOSE CALL!

5.09 - If my kidneys and bone calcium remain intact after this coke marathon I shall be very, very surprised.

p. 499 - GO HARRY, GO HARRY! Yey!

6.11 - I dearly wish I could sleep, am knackered and fully wired.

p. 556 - No! Nononononononononoooooooo! NOOOOOO!!!!! Rewrite it now, NOT FAIR!

p. 602 - Sod noble, Harry!

p. 604 - ...When none here are loyal to him. *SOB*

P. 605 - ...Through and through. *SOB*

7.09 - Done. I promised I wouldn't spoil it but I need to get this weight off my chest a bit, I won't say much but I can't believe IT and that one paragraph towards the end was too close for comfort, and it seems that all books now must end in copious tears and fuck. Just... FUCK! Tell me if you find a bigger, better word.

Friday, July 15, 2005

No sleep for the literate!

HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter
HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter
HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter
HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter
HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter
HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter
HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter HarryPotter

Harry Potter!!!

I will get my hands on it at midnight tonight, and will be unavailable till I've read it all. I managed to start The Order of the Phoenix at 10 am, read on till abt 1 am, couldn't not fall asleep anymore BUT! Managed to wake up startled at around 3 am and read the remaining pages. I LOVED it!

This one has abt 100 pp. less, WHY??? I need those extra pages!

I'm so excited, so excited! SOOOOO EXCITED!

Homo s. revisited

1. Notice that some vegetables defy logic and understanding, and have done so for thousands of years. Prehistoric paintings recently found in Bhimabetaka depict the anatomically modern man* calling The Female into the kitchen equivalent bcs the sweet potato (singular, i.e. ONE very lonely sweet potato) needs to be cut up in cubes. But HOW? The Female can also be seen being called upon to try the sweet potato (one; singular) bcs she has a special glandular pouch in her cheek which allows her to judge whether food has been cooked enough. Said pouch is currently very much in use still.

2. Notice that The Female’s insistence upon The Male not drinking directly from the juice bottle please bcs of the bacterial fest that will ensue; the lettuce being well washed and rinsed in vinegar; and the washing cloths and sponges being thoroughly washed, rinsed and hung to dry are just extreme and unreasonable; and The Female’s definition of a health hazard is utterly subjective.

3. When washing the ODD pot by hand notice that:

3.1. Any activity that happens IN the sink has nothing to do with the sink ITSELF. It is therefore perfectly logical, and indeed advisable, to NOT clean up the sink itself upon completion.
3.2. It then follows that any debris - be it of a vegetable or fleshy nature - that remains in the sink remains, in fact, in the sink.
3.3. The Female should be happy anyway bcs The Male does not enjoy dish-washing, unlike The Female who obviously would thrive on it were it not for skin condition which most unfortunately prevents her from indulging.
3.4. The Male fails to see why The Female should make such a fuss EVERY SINGLE TIME she needs to clean it up herself bcs what is so bad abt her cleaning after him EVERY SINGLE TIME
after all?

4. Notice that the same applies to chopping vegetables and such similar activities. A sparse population of tiny and not so tiny bits of tomatoes, carrots, sugar and more or less fluid substances on all counters is not only pleasing to the eye in a most colourful manner but also a safety device. Any potential burglar would become distracted by the colour scheme and intriguing smells, giving The Male ample time to clob him abt the head and scrape his sorry hide.

5. Notice that The Male is genetically incapable of throwing away an empty carton or box. All empty packaging is proof of strapping gonads and must therefore be held onto for as long as possible in a tribute to the fine, mammoth-clad specimens of yore. Those were the days.

6. Notice that, due to philogeny, The Male is always on the lookout for predators. He cannot therefore be bothered to notice that clothes have dried and need to be folded and put away - or any other thing for the matter. It would be unnatural and perhaps even dangerous. The Female's safety must always come first.

7. Notice that The Male feels that a home landscape liberally sprinkled with his clothes adds design value to the property, and is justifiably surprised when The Female stubbornly refuses to acknowledge this millenary information bit.

8. Notice that The Male will do something abt the clothes but under duress out of great generosity only bcs Good God, can’t she see he is busy with the computer!

9. Notice that the male single-handedly fosters a flourishing Mildew Exchange Program by dropping a wet bath towel on any available surface, wood included. The Male is a veritable FunGuy.

10. Notice that The Male refers to The Female’s pets as His and is absolutely in love with them, especially Tripod, but ownership is abruptly terminated when poop cake or the carpet furball make an appearance.

11. Notice that this does not prevent The Male from not only wanting babies but also having planned that the first WILL be born in November so HE is a Scorpio like Daddy, bcs everyone knows babies can be timed and only grow an arse and mouth when they lose their first tooth.

12. Notice that The Male will, when confronted with a bagless and ornery rubbish bin, choose to carefully place the banana peel on its lid, thereby avoiding any confrontation. The Male is nothing if not a political savvy beast. The Male will subsequently nearly jump out of his skin when, upon turning around, he finds himself face to face with The Female and a very much raised eyebrow, and will smile sheepishly while trying to surreptitiously pull down the missing bag.

13. Finally, notice that The Male will then be at an absolute loss when The Female grows scarily long canines, sharpens her claws on his bare chest and actually growls when The Male proudly tells her See? I’ve HELPED you loads TODAY haven’t I.

* ~30,000 years old but you wouldn’t notice him if you saw him walk past you.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

More sadness online

I can't believe this. Paul's been given grief by some trolls as well. I hate trolls, cowardly, jealous, frustrated little wankers that they are.

I have been a rotten online friend really, in the past few months. I have not even been able to pull myself together enough to help with this and am mad at myself. Stupid Lioness, THAT is one worthy cause and you can't lift your head and forget abt your personal misery for a bit in order to help others? Selfish, so very selfish. I truly am sorry.

I will miss you, Paul. Please let it not be for good.

Monday, July 11, 2005


Horshim Avocado

Uzi worked in the kibbutz avocado fields [those are our avocados up there], his job as a teen and still his job whenever he was home from the Technion. That's where

he used to find the dead scorpions he'd bring me, to my immense glee. He'd come home covered in avocado soot, or so it seemed, his working shoes announcing his arrival right away, tree dust all over his blue-grey working shirt (the one I'm wearing in the hair pics a few posts below), dark-blue working pants riding low because of the weight of his tools (oh his beloved Leatherman), blue eyes blazing among the tan and the grey.

Those moments were always the prettiest I ever saw him look.

I never took a picture of him looking like that.

I cried for him yesterday.


PS - We used to eat them spread on toast, sprinkled w salt and pepper. Delicious. He brought loads of avocados to the room and would hand them out to everyone in sight. We always had more avocados than we knew what to do with. Uzi-food. Haven't been able to eat them since.


The first identified victim is Susan Levy

Isn't that apropriate? LEVY. Imagine how the vermin will dance.

At least she's now been identified. No more hope but at least they know. They know. I hope it was quick and painless. To family and friends of the victims, who are by now probably feeling real panic and a mixture of absolute hope and despondency, I am desperately sorry for you and your loss, I wish I could make it not so. May you find comfort.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

The sound of chalk

People are still missing, 20 plus bodies trapped in a carriage, at least 50 dead, mostly unidentified. Families and friends of the missing are gathered in different sites, waiting, hoping. Photographs of the missing have been put up. My heart breaks for them and I am thrown back. Or not really. Sometimes I feel I've never left. Whichever way I phrase it, I know what they are thinking, what they are praying for.

They are saying He is unconscious in some hospital and has no documents and that's why we haven't heard anything yet, it's still early days. And when that no longer helps smother the fear they'll fervorously think He is unconscious in some hospital and has no documents and has sustained several facial injuries and that's why we haven't heard anything yet, it's still early enough. And that will turn into He is unconscious in some hospital and has no documents and is burnt beyond recognition and that's why we haven't heard anything yet, despite all these days that have gone by. The families and friends will pray that they be returned to them, regardless of disfiguration degree, bcs that's still better than the alternative. Let him come back maimed but let him come back. We don't care, just.... Please.

Some will receive a phone call. Life will more or less return to normal. The one they prayed for is somehow, somewhere, alive. Miraculously. And yet their hearts will forever be heavy and their guilt will be immense bcs:

Some will receive a phone call. They've found him. And they will hear the sound of chalk on the cosmic blackboard, and that one screech will forever be embedded in their consciousness and resonate at all times, even when they sleep, sometimes especially then. And they will want to screech as well but even if they do there is no comfort bcs nothing will ever drown out [ha!] the sounds they will never hear again.

I am so sorry, so terribly sorry for your pain.


This feels appropriate:

"A place of refuge for human vessels"*

The Drifter came and said:

Out there is where it all starts.
Hell is out there,
deep, deep inside, beneath your soul.
Internal thoughts may never be,
they take the place I had for thee,
and in a world of loss and hate
you have to crawl and never take.
There is no future and no past,
there is a limbo that will last
for ever and a thousand years,
a cry of warriors, of my fears,
a battle which will never see
the night that grows inside of me.

But I'm alone and this I know:
I am the Drifter who will grow
a crop of souls in every man,
a place to hide and dare to ban,
for here I stand, inside of me,
sailing the thoughts of fears to be.
I am the one who dared to sail the human vessels - and never fail.

Dec 92 (©2003)

* Title is a quote from Tennessee Williams' "Small Craft Warnings"

Friday, July 08, 2005

Do you know what's breaking my heart too?

How long till the first innocent Muslim is killed in England, home of the hooligans? How long till mothers no longer allow their children to play outside bcs they fear for them? How long till the first shop is vandalised, and the first mosque is burnt down?

There are many languages in which Kristallnacht can be written. And they are all beneath us.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

This is NOT what Islam is all about

I was reading Nuno Guerreiro's Rua da Judiaria, which everyone should read. I stumbled upon him right at the beginning of my blogging days, even bfr I became aware of how much of a celebrity he is. We have more in common than he knows, but then again I don't talk abt it so how could he KNOW? [Olá Nuno! Bnei Anussim kick ass!] [I actually wrote all of this this bfr you sent me your really cool email - and you know by now I am more likely to kick ass than kiss it, right?] [Still, this makes ME cool. Come on, people, we are using "tu" with each other now! I have arrived. ;)] Sadly for most, he writes in Portuguese and the only available translation is an automatic one, and they are always awful. He's just posted a really disturbing interview excerpt from April last year with Omar Bakri Mohammed, a sheik who is the self-proclaimed leader of Londonistan. [I would give kudos to the journalist (I've just seen him on the telly talking abt it) but am still hiding from my Porties so follow the link and go find out who I am talking abt and where it was published]. This is the interview. Nuno said I could publish it, and so I am.

MAGAZINE: Do you think there will be a bombing in London?
Omar Bakri Mohammed: That is unavoidable because several are being prepared by several groups.(…)M.: Are there many of those free-lance groups in Europe?
OBM: More and more. Which is dangerous because not all of them have adequate theoretical training. Here in London there’s a very well organised one called Al-Qaeda-Europe. They divulge loads of propaganda through the internet and emails and are very appealing to young Muslims. I know they are about to launch a major operation.(…)
M.: How will we know if a bombing was really Al-Qaeda’s?
OBM.: Easy. Firstly, they’re always in a large scale. The divine text is clear as to the need to cause “as much damage as possible.” The operative must therefore ensure that he kills as many people as he can. If he doesn’t the fire of Hell will await him. Secondly, Al-Qaeda always leaves a fingerprint: a clue, such as a car with a Koran or a tape, so they can be found by the police. Thirdly, the attacks are conducted at two or three places simultaneously. Finally, the language. In their press releases all you need is one sentence to recognise their theoretical rigour: no sign of nationalism, they don’t claim to be Arabs or Palestinians, merely Muslim. They always talk of martyrdom, death.(…)
M.: But what can justify the deliberate killing of thousands of innocent civilians?
OBM: We don’t make a distinction between civilian and not civilian, innocent and not innocent, Muslims and disbelievers. And the life of a disbeliever has no value. It has no sanctity.
M.: But there were Muslims among the victims.
OBM: That was foreseen, According to Islam all Muslims who die in an attack will immediately be accepted into paradise as martyrs. As for the others, that is their problem. God has sent them messages, the Muslims have sent them messages, they didn’t believe them. God said: “While the disbelievers are alive, guide them, persuade them do your best. But when they die do not feel sorry for them even if it is your father or your mother because the fire of Hell is the only place that befits them.”(…)
M: The Koran says that
OBM: Yes. People don’t understand because the TV and the newspapers only interview the secular ones. They don’t talk to those who know. The secular ones say “Islam is the religion of love.” But Islam is also the religion of war. Of peace but also of terrorism. Mohammed said: “I am the prophet of mercy". But he also said: “I am the prophet of massacre.” The word “terrorism” is not a new one among Muslims. Mohammed said even more: ”I am the prophet who laughs as he kills his enemy.” It’s therefore not just a matter of killing. It’s laughing as you kill.
M.: Does that mean that terrorism is natural and legitimate?
OBM.: Only divine terrorism is legitimate.(…)
M.: What does Al-Qaeda want?
OBM: Terror. They are committed to a defensive jihad against those who attacked Islam. And in the long run they want to re-establish an Islamic state, a caliphate. And convert the whole world. (…)

M.: Can the USA negociate with Al-Qaeda?
OBM: Al-Qaeda is by nature an invisible entity, not a State, so it cannot dialogue witha State. Its aim is to overthrow the corrupt governments of Muslim countries, replace them with Islamic governments and reinstate the caliphate. Then, as a State, it may negociate with the USA as equals. First they will try a security pact with them. They will say: we supply the oil and will live in peace but on the condition that we will be allowed to freely divulge Islam in the West. If the Americans don’t allow this then the caliphate will have to declare war.(…)

God help us all.

But do you want to know something? That is NOT what Islam is all about, I don't care what the mad men say. And you will never ever win, you spineless, demented cowards. NEVER. Not even over our dead bodies. Fuckers.

I want to fucking hurt them back

I feel sick, those poor people... The English will have no clue how to go abt this. [Actually, they seem to have a clue, as it turns out. Don't know quite what I was thinking when I wrote that, just think WWII and what a stiff upper lip the whole country kept, and how bravely they fought. Londoners keep their wits. Replace London w Lisbon... I can't even begin to imagine.] This is London, London is not TA, everyone knows that.

I'm afraid everywhere can be Tel Aviv now. I'm afraid the Madrid train explosion last year saw the last of our European innocence. Western innocence, maybe. I think the Western world will soon find out what it's like to be Israeli. The day there is a bombing in the US - and I am sure there will be onem, it's a matter of time - is the day the world will FINALLY change its tune. And then maybe things will finally change, and people will realise the Arabs aren't helpless and misguided, and the Palestinians aren't bereft and valuable. Funny how "identity" can be created out of literally nothing, and how said "identity" can be directly proportional to the existing infrastructures built by another - TRUE - identity... Yes, those poor, poor Palestinians. Why can't they ALL blow themselves up at the same time? That'd both make a statement and rid the world of vermin. There will soon be Arabs on the streets in every Arab country celebrating another victory of God over us infidels [UPDATE: 5h after the bombings, there are Palestinians dancing in the streets. Shocker. I'm sure BBC and CNN will do an in-depth reporting of it, as they are wont to. Yes.]. No, why should I worry that the Muslim European population is increasing at a phenomenal rate? They are so flexible when it comes to honour killings, so well-integrated in their cute little ghettos, so willing to realise they live in LAY countries, fucking lay countries, it's such a bonus, really, to have them around. FUCKING PIGS! Yes, the choice of animal is on purpose. Bite me.

Call me what you will. There may be Arabs who are fabulous, dignified, educated people. But the notion of Islamic Arabs as a whole? I fear and despise them. Hell, I don't like my Porties either most of the time but at least they don't behave like fucking cowards who use their young and even their retarded to get what they want at the expense of their lives, and target the blameless. They soak up all that is good in the West and then use it to maim and kill. They are vile and cowardly and really really despicable and I wish they'd just drop dead, I truly do.

The police have admitted to only 6 dead. Six is ludicrous, there were several buses blown up and tube carriages also. Six synchronised explosions altogether. There are many, many more dead. And then there are still all those who will still die, and all those others who will have lost their eyesight, their legs, their hand, their spleen, their sanity.

A fucking waste of breath is what they are, those fucking cowards. FUCKING COWARDS! I am so mad and heartsick I don't even know what to do with myself.

[Aaron, now would be a good time for you to comment and say you are all right. Your defunct site has no email and I deleted the old ones so have no way to contact you. Would be nice to hear from you, period.]

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Those fresh-smelling closets and an ovaric detour

I feel I have been possessed by an alien little woman, someone ultra-sensitive, helpless and frail and God bless my ovaries. This is one of those rare times when I NEED to blog in the hope of re-aligning the planets or what have you. But more of that later. Let’s do How To Keep Your Wardrobes Smelling Fresh ALWAYS first out of respect for the male audience, bcs later on there will be a small tour of the female endocrinal and reproductive system and they will NOT appreciate it at all. There will even be footprints, for the sturdier of you.

My wardrobes had been puzzling me. I love fresh-smelling clothes and am really happy w my new softener. But I realised that after a while the clean, not yet worn clothes no longer smelled so fresh, and that when I opened the door there was a hint of a smell I couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t a bad smell but it was a bit un-freshish. HATE un-freshish. One day I saw the light
but didn’t write abt it then bcs a) I couldn’t and b) I didn’t think anyone really cared - but some do so here it is.

Sometimes we wear clothes just once, right? And after taking them off we sniff them to find out whether they need to be washed. When they don’t, they usually go back in the closet. And THAT is the problem. Bcs, even if they don’t smell bad yet, they have been used, and they will have picked up odours that are unnoticeable at that moment but that will gather once in the closet and create an anti-freshness barrier, as it were. Also, Porties don’t have closets by the front door for big coats and outdoorsy clothes, so those too go back into the closets where the fresh clothes are.

BRAINSTORM! How abt… I have two wardrobes and this is what I did. The one in the hallway only has clothes that were not worn AT ALL TIMES. The one in the bedroom, bcs it’s bigger, holds all bulky winter coats and clothes that have been worn. I got some of these from IKEA
, because the closet has no shelves and that’s where the t-shirts et al go. It was the most brilliant move ever and I now have perfectly delicious-smelling clothes always. [Why do I LOVE wonderful smells AND YET still smoke? Bcs I am daft, that's why.] Also, there are sachets of scent that you can get and place them in between layers and they add an overall touch of freshness to the whole.

Now, ovaries. Males of the species, you are most advised to stop reading now. I am serious. You will not be grateful, especially if you’re an Anglo. Anglos are in general a bit more squirmish. And I apparently know no shame any longer but blame it on the Barren Bitches Brigade. I am Barbara Cartland where they are hardcore porn. Still, I'd like to believe there's hope for me yet, one day I'll get there. Diana, this is what I want to know. I know you will love to do your medical detecting work when you have another free hour or so. You have so many of those, I know, and it may keep you from scratching. Bring out the thick books. Imagine recalcitrant ovaries from day one. Imagine terrible dysmenorrhoea from day one and for-months-vanishing periods. Imagine hormone therapy to get things into shape. Imagine a close encounter - or several - with the wand monkey (BBB trademark) and a diagnosis of PCO
(polycystic ovaries). Bizarrely but thankfully enough without the extra weight and body hair but still. Now imagine that the Dr. prescribes the pill and said ovaries are given their needed rest. Then more wand monkeys, no, still not working, then maybe better, then yes, we have occasional ovulation, then all cyst gone, then they’re back, then back on the pill we go.

Now, one of the marvellous side-effects is decrease of cramping. HA! Minulet has died on me, as it turns out, I wake up several times a night bcs it hurts so bloody much. And not only has it been making me absolutely nauseous for longer than I care abt, but it is turning me into a mad woman on all sorts of levels. I have lately been known to burst into tears for absolutely no good reason. And the Princess And The Pea potential has escalated to a scary degree. I sulk and mop and weep and wring my hands and am utterly miserable even though I went to IKEA yesterday and got a gorgeous coffee table (which tripod cat loves bcs she can hop onto it and sleep there, high up there, away from all land predators) and wool carpet and my living-room is slowly starting to look the way I want it to.


Finally, this pill break has greeted me with Mittleschmerz, yes it has! I sometimes know I ovulate not only bcs of the egg white mucous but bcs it is accompanied by the most annoying lower back pain. Hullo, we have it now! My back has been killing me for 4 days now, I keep taking our Tylenol equivalent but it’s a bloody persistent pain. This never used to happen to me. Minulet has lost its touch.


I fear for my eggs, I truly do. So, I am going off the damn thing and will wait the requisite period and then have my hormones and ovaries tested/examined again. I know my ovaries aren’t behaving bcs pre-pill this time you could comb your hair w the reflection of my forehead and my leg hairs, though still blonde, became really long. I am, apparently, turning into a man. (How long must I wait now till all levels go back to their abnormal selves? I took it for 2 months. Another two?) I also want to check for egg quality so FSH here we come. I’ve never had that tested.

Finally, an ode to blood. Bcs we bleed when we get our periods and that blood, especially when copious, needs to go somewhere. Sometimes, it goes to unexpected places. I don’t much care for tampons bcs of their downward mobility complex [NOT upward, sorry abt that 1st version] so pads it is. Yesterday I was getting ready for my shower and took off my knickers - obviously. [If you are not a vet student, a doctor, a person of strong will you may really want to stop reading now. It’s funny - well, I think so - but you won’t thank me]. I always place them on the floor, sunny side up, bcs I then use the wrapper from the new pad to wrap the old pad in bfr disposing of it. I turned around still in my socks and stepped on the old pad, thereby acquiring a perfect heel print. I hopped in the shower with the sock on and composed this post in my head thinking “Oh what fun it will be to blog abt it!” and promptly stepped on the stupid pad again as I got out of the bathtub, only realising it after I’d gone to the hallway closet to get the knickers I’d forgotten and come back. You could have followed the trail, bread crumbs optional. Maybe next time I’ll tell you how my gynaecologist once blew on my cooter to "make it all better" but only if you really, really want me to.

Lioness Pride, where poop cake and that shedding uterine layer come to die.

Monday, July 04, 2005

Udge, here comes! With apologies for delay!

Eons ago, Udge tagged me with six questions. SIX. A bigger piece of cake, he said. Right.~

Then Imshin, who does NOT read me EITHER (sorry Ed, still can't resist it. It's still not that funny but...), obviously, tagged me with a few more. This will be fun bcs altogether I’ll have answered this meme more or less three times! I am nothing if not thorough. If Imshin READ ME she’d have known this but she’s too busy riding her bike through gorgeous Israeli inner-city landscapes. To the river, to the river! [I was very mean now bcs I think I may have made Imshin squirm. Now she'll think I'm serious and worry abt it. Well, serves you right for NOT READING me. *Coughs up furball*]

Posteriorly (yes, no, it doesn’t work in English but I thought it would be fun to let you have a glimpse of how we Porties talk. We actually do say this.) I, in the throes of some death wish, decided to accept Lorem Ipsum’s interview invitation (she has some excellent news over at her blog, truly excellent! Mazel Tov!). It makes perfect sense bcs I am so good at actually answering said questions. What’s 3 months between friends. [Udge, es tut mir so leid, ich weiss, ich bin unmöglich. Die Fragen waren aber schwer, gell? Hajo-her! - sagt man halt so in Kar*sruhe. Just saying.]

And then
Ana decided to compound it all, much like a fracture, by asking me what my favourite 6 songs are! Hell if I know. So here we are, here we go.

Dearest Udge:

1- How could anybody possibly get lost in her own room?

Well. I don’t much care for his tone, you know. Vaguely disbelieving, as though it’s not a perfectly normal thing to have happen.

When I was abt 10, my oldest girl cousin came to stay with us for a while during the holidays. This is what my room looked like:

(And this was my furniture as a child, only mine had prettier colours. It’s typical from the South of the country. It’s been in the family for ages and ages and my parents had it restored for my 30th birthday. They now kindly baby-sit it till I buy a bigger flat.)

The bed was huge and quite high, we were small, we shared it. I was sleeping on the side of the bathroom. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, needing to pee, so I got up. Now would be abt the right time to tell you that I get lost everywhere, have absolutely no sense of direction. I always know what the time is but rarely where I am. I didn’t want to wake up my cousin so I didn’t turn on the light, deciding instead to feel my way to the loo. Well, it all became very bizarre very quickly, see, bcs I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where I was. Now would also be a good time to reiterate that I don’t wake up in full possession of my faculties, and that it takes me a while to be able to face the light, synapse-impaired, let alone actually think. I had at some point decided it was safer to crawl (always safer in a hostile environment) and kept bumping into things but my cousin was sleeping so I tried not to vocalise my pain too much. I was becoming a bit desperate by then bcs I knew I was in my room but THIS COULDN'T POSSIBLY BE MY ROOM, HELP! All the rustling and soft muttering and solid surfaces hitting solid surfaces t must have finally been too much for my cousin bcs all of a sudden there was light, and I heard her say “What ARE you doing??”.

See, I was, at that precise moment, emerging from under the bed right in front of the table. I had managed to smoothly (HA!) sail on my knees all the way to the other side, under the bed. Where I had things stored, hence the bumping and the pain. I truly cannot explain how that happened but my family haven’t forgotten. You’d think 2 decades would be enough for the memory to fade, and you’d be so very wrong. That story is regularly retold, and always ends with “Now, how on earth…?” I don’t know how I did it, LEAVE ME ALONE.

2 - Who (or what) gives you strength?

I don’t know. I’m getting a bit tired of this strength thingy, sometimes I just want to have a proper fit and be done w it. I learnt from my parents that we shape our own destiny, that we are our own salvation. From my parents, and from books, in the beginning. Then from my Tweedle, we have been re-inventing ourselves for quite a few decades now and we’re finally getting to where we want to be. And my other friends, one by one. I think a lot of it is genes as well. I’m sorry but this nurturing thing? Very good and very effective but only to a certain degree. We are far more ruled by genes than we care to think abt. I suppose it’d be more comfortable to be able to think we can control it all but we cannot, really we cannot. And that’s ok too. I was born a bit of a warrior, was a preemie (7,5 months) and weighed 1,150 Kg (2.54 pounds). I screamed my lungs off right away, says my mother, and didn’t even need the incubator. Thus a trend was born.

I have always been string-willed and stubborn. When I was 5 I decided I needed to learn how to read. I remember it perfectly, I was in the bath and told my mother that some of my friends already knew the letters and I didn’t want to be dumb. My mother tells me she tried to convince me not to, my parents were worried bcs I was precocious and tried to curb it but I insisted till she gave in. She also tells me that by the time the bath was finished I could read “pai”, “pipa”, “vai”, “papa” - and thus a love affair with words was born, amen. But see what a stubborn little freak I was?

Also, I have a strong mystical streak. Which is fun bcs I am a scientist, see, and the conversations the two sides have would be enough to drive one batty at times. If I didn’t have a very healthy schizoid side as well, that is. (We Choose To Call It Healthy) I do believe things, most things are interconnected, and as much as w are our own salvation, some things just… are. Say, we can choose what path to travel but the ground is not for us to decide. Sort of. And I don’t believe in coincidences, I believe life, the universe, you name it, talks to us when we are willing to listen. So, when
something very bad happens I don’t think the gods are out to get me. I don’t blame God. (I’ve talked abt this bfr so bear w me) God has nothing to do with this. God is above Good and Bad, Right and Wrong. God is neutral, like the Emperess in the Neverending Story [which is not, I repeat, NOT a children’s book. Please don’t make me hurt you.]. God is, Life happens, Death happens, it fucking hurts but that’s just the way things are sometimes. Can’t be helped. Not to offend anyone’s beliefs but probably doing it anyway, it’s beyond me how anyone can think God actually decides what happens (if you do, I’d love to learn abt it, maybe I’m missing something). Bcs if he did then he’d be a sociopath, who creates things like famine, and cancer, and war, and why, almost slipped my mind, fucking tsunamis??

Finally, let’s go back to books. Books are the best escape route there is and have saved my sanity and expanded my worlds more often than I could tell you. I stopped needing a religion when I learnt how to read - and write - but life was kinder than that. I now have my books, my God, a Judaism I am growing into, comfortably at last, and most of my mental health. This last bit varies, as you know.

3 - Which of your own habits annoys you most in other other people?

I can be quite curt and impatient but somehow, SOMEHOW, only I am allowed to.

4 - Which language will you learn next, and why?

I would love to learn Dutch bcs, after Hebrew, it’s the most beautiful language there is. And quite easy to when compared to German. Sadly, I sound German when I speak Dutch, which is a truly terrible thing. But I probably never will learn it. What I will do though, is improve my Hebrew, I’ve forgotten masses and hardly ever have a chance to use it. Bcs Hebrew was the last language I’ve learnt, and 10 years bfr that it’d been German, they must be overlapping in Broca’s brain or something and I sometimes short-fuse. When I do, my mouth opens and Germans starts pouring out in the middle of a Hebrew sentence, much to my horror. You really want to be careful w speaking German in Israel. What VERY often happens is, say, I’m at a zebra crossing and a car is coming on fast and I will shout “Acthung!” Acthung. Hardly a recognisable word. And then I want to lie on the zebra crossing and hope for a lorry.

5 - What would prevent you from opening a branch of the RSPCA in Portugal?

Money and knowledge. The latter can be worked on, don’t know abt the money. We don’t have any really effective shelter system, they are over-crowded and hardly ever funded and my fingers itch to do something. My dream would be to have a huge facility (pretty much like Battersea) where I could say YES to every single stray. Which would then be spayed. Which would then be placed. I would do pro bono spaying/neutering and have lower rates. I would have a hotel for when people go on holidays, and a pool for dogs w arthritis and hip dysplasia, and a homeopathic (for say, corneal injuries, much faster healing) and laser acupuncture (works marvelously for arthritis) centre. And high-school students would be welcome to volunteer and we would hold educational sessions throughout the counrty. And fairies would twitteringly brush people’s hair off their foreheads on really hot days and the lamb and the wolf would frolic* together but never bonk, bcs it wouldn't be that sort of place.

6 -Bonus question: Describe the treat(s) you're going to give yourself when the exams are over.

Exams + over... Uhmm. That and the Moschiach should arrive simultaneously. Moshiach will probably be a bit faster. All right, all right. I will buy books and read them! I will also probably finish the books I’ve bought and had brought over. And I will travel w Loverboy, probably to London, where I could meet my friend C. who was with me on the kibbutz. I haven't seen him in 4 years, hell. O perfid Albion, how much do I love thee? A whole bloody lot.

Ladies next.

[UPDATE: Didn't anyone notice how I first spelt "frolic"?? What are you doing, people, that you don't point out such a shameful typo to me? *CRINGE* I told you. Bloody German, mindfuck if I ever saw one.]