Category Archive

I’ve never seen I<3Huckabees, and with good reason: I’ve never even been able to grasp the concept of existentialism, until a few days ago.  Maybe it’s like Kabbalah; you need to be married and over 40 to even start it. But alas, I still haven’t reached quarter life and I’m single tingle and ready to mingle. Christ, was that lame. Digression!

Existentialism, as I understand it - and as Wikipedia explains it - is the belief that we, human beings, draw meaning from personal values, decisions, and actions, as opposed to some higher power, force, or authority. “I think therefore I am,” besides being an reprehensible grammatic error, evokes power in the one who says it.

Fuck searching for yourself.

Create yourself.

The part that really resonated with me and my elbows was the concept of absurdity, in that life IS absurd. And so is death.  most of us live life thinking, irrationally, that tomorrow brings hope, all the while edging closer and closer to the certainty of death and the end. But we fail to see that plain truth, that we all die in the end, life is pretty much meaningless - till we create it ourselves - and we tend to lead a more secure, stable route, thinking again wrongly, that stability and safety will lead to prosperity and reward.

God. Where are we these days? But why? Why do we take Road A instead of G,H,I, or J? Because confronting that irrationality and going on a quest for deeper meaning is so imposing and burdensome, the body and mind undertake a self-sabotaging mission to thwart those chances for self-discovery.  That, at least for me, is what this whole id vs. ego tug is all about. Safety and stability versus adventure and risk.

But I’d take risk any day.

it’s 3:34.

1.  the mustache is gone. the molester look wasn’t working out.
2. i’m applying to advertising school. so i can pay cash. and get a portfolio. and produce stuff. is it possible to teach creativity? perhaps i am unpopped kernel. ad school is the microwave.
3. i am the king of procrastination.
4. i want to travel. and travel i shall. new zealand. australia. thailand. join the protesters and fight the chinese in Lhasa. Dalai lama here i come. make me some lentils and i will do your bidding.
5. i’m traveling. hence, the move out of santa monica, back to the valley, airports, planes, trains, and australians. Los Angeles, you were never mine to begin with.
6. It’s hard to be creative on demand. never realized that.
7. I’m listening to a lot of Cut Copy. they are the shizza and you should pandorize them. or last fm them.
8. why did i buy all this stuff? why do i still have it?
9. my brother gil turned 23. i made him a card with using pictures of a jewish orthodox laundromat owner. the copy: not your average hyphenated american. he laughed. i enjoyed making the card. its my zen time. tell me when your birthday is and I’ll make  you one. i just need a few magazines to chop up.
10. it is sunny. and it stopped being so fucking windy. what is with you. the palm trees a mile away are still standing, but dancing, leaning, bending  in her graces.
11. it’s time for us all to stop worrying and start living.
12. that about wraps it up.

dedication moving forward forward. the longer the road, the deeper the road. can’t you see, we’re traveling? i and i, strictly for guns, we’re traveling. moving forward. i’ve found love but can’t hold onto it. that is the curse. ahh ahh. you put the Jah, in my jump. jah real, feel my name, we’re rocking to the rugs burns of the nine to the seven to the two - time moves slower when love moves faster, but are you listening when i praise your name silently in heaven the mud crumbling from the walls when i shout your name every room is moving to mind and soul, mind and soul the beat of the handdrum calls outwith passionfruit laughing. pause. pause. feeling alright, alright. 13 minutes have passed since has passed over, soul rolled over to your white shoulder pressed against mine - the kiss of mayday and blueberries lalalas ROOTS ROOTS ROOTS staple my heart to yours wouldn’t that be nice?  my heart moves to the beat of the east when love is all there is the periphery distorts melts into itself the marriage of minds is a beautiful thing to waste the kiss of this a wonderful thing to taste love, love love, in the end there is only love for you.

when will all jah people learn? semitic man you hit just above water the blind leading the blind leading the blind leadingtheblind leadingtheblindleadingtheblind your breath is my salvation don’t stop with the roots penetrating to this love apart. hey! when you live don’t live in babylon, corrupted love rusting out without attention i’m granting, i can grant if given the chance. where are you headed? brothers sisters prepare this love feast from this day forward, from this day on , we are one people in love

this is a decompression session still have I not learned the lesson but feel the need, to make this confession under oppression. choices, choices, with too many voices tearing me apart, plans for this place and that place I yearn for nothing but that sacred space of lush rainforest and beaches, songs of the drummers, mind body connected to something greater, all the while career is something safer. safer from what? i remember that song of the desert when all the troubles could vanish like this, so when did the eskimos go capitalist?

when opportunity calls, why do i perceive them as walls, shifting perspective moving to subjective, liberating entrapment.  but schooling awaits, an incubator of ideas and concepts, the vehicle to bring me to the land of the fabled carrot stick state. two step to the platform, shoes hesitant, moving swifter now, but not before the Maldives.

the cartilage peeling wheels careening I’m dissolving into symptomatic panic the pleasure in my face senses automatic aromatic bamboo splitting underneath my nails. transmitting the spells I run on adrenaline cells, fueling this vessel of organic matter the latter it’s coming to my understanding that life is but a funnel we all traverse, what are we but a different colored Alice born to slip through our own wonderland. we’re looking for someone, something, the glue that makes it all make sense. you’ll find it in fresh cut leather, ripe avocado, the space between the buttons on your blackberry, the sulphuric pools by the dead sea, fruit from thailand. it’s there. just breathe.

this is where i came undone, and re-done, the threadcount in my head coming together, no longer splitting, no longer unwitting, the synapses wringing together, fresh hanging laundry, i know this is a crappy metaphor but just go with it, visualize it in your head, and you’ll see it, the peaceful piece of clothing strung up between 14th century apartment buildings in napoli, the ones in postcards. if we could all be like that, hanging, being pressed, getting worn, then getting washed, getting worn, getting a stain on our right breast, being worn by a grandfather, then son, then son of the son. it moves in cycles: red, spiraling cycles. sometimes you eat the bar, and sometimes you get a power bar. and then of course, sometimes the bar eats you.

hey. how’s it going? come here. that was a good hug, I swear! wrong? nothing’s wrong. why would anything be wrong? it’s true, urban eskimos, i’ve neglected you. i got busy. i go distracted. from the things that matter. not things, just thing. youre the only thing. for me. that matters. yes. this is real. no, there isn’t anyone else. i promise. nope, not even blogger. i haven’t spoken to her in over a year. NO ONE. there is no one but you. yeah. yeah i know. it got weird. didn’t it. im sorry it happened too. i wish we could just stop time and continue things like they used to be but i can’t so. why are you - are you about to cry? because then thats gonna make me cry.oh. same old. working. in quite a weird spot. but making a little bit of dough. yeah. its ok. i bought a whole bunch of furniture. a lot. its nice. you should come by and check it out. my asthma is flaring up. i think its because my roommate smokes. or maybe its just LA. it has that effect on one’s lungs. im comfortable in my living spot. sorry. SPACE. its a space, its not a spot anymore. spot was so senior year of college. spots become spaces at some point thereafter. quite difficult to get out and build up a community. the westside has gained that type of reputation. sometimes i pretend that i just moved here, but then when my original location turns out to be encino, in the san fernando valley, my new friends get turned off (or so i think) so i’ll lie and say that i’m from israel, in hopes that that gets me more attention and interaction.it doesn’t work that well.im not jewish anymore. thinking about it, thinking about how to get myself back into that world, whether i want to, i think i want to, but sick of the same old same old. dinners at my house, with people, shabbat, we could OM…that would make my fridays. who needs anything else? i’d make all the guys wear ties. we’d have clip ons at the door. and there’d be candles everywhere.i’m so…self absorbed lately. it’s wierd. in the desert, i was always surrounded by others. it offered solitude, peaceful solitude when you wanted it, but moving to a new town, with friends either across the city or out of the country - this is loneliness. cooking for myself on some nights, cleaning my room, watching weapon races and Top ten fighter jets on the Military Channel. It is not easy. something to be relished, seized, an opportunity to learn and grow of course, but affection is what i crave. not necessarily sexual, but that doesn’t sound bad either.  and when is that supposed to happen? before or after i find some solid friends who live close enough to walk or bike over?i should get out more to you, santa monica. you are, after all, my city.  

I recently joined Broowaha, per a co-worker’s suggestion.

I got bored at work at wrote an article.

I got made.

Mideast conference spirals out of control in falafel fight 

Thanks Jen! I hope the sex rocks.

Ricky!

Hey brother! How are things out there? I’m thinking of you and so is everyone here! same old same old here, watching the news a lot, and can’t wait for you to come home.

You’re probbably thinking what is this picture that my brother sends me? well, I’ve got some good news and some news that’s just ok. You remember Suzy right? Well, turns out she’s 3 months due, says it was my doing that got her this big. I may be blessed with such a powerful instrument between my thighs, but I never seen anybody get that big. You?

Says we were fooling around, that night after mini golf, something about me and Lionel, (you already shipped out) she was there with Tina (the girl who does that special twist you remember?) So now she says yes it happened and there’s no use for it, beggin’ child support for Amanda. Already gave her a name, can you believe this? And i’m not sure i’m the daddy.

I mean, I guess it’s possible for that all to happen now, when I think about it, we were getting freakish a lot at mini golf, but really? wrecked my halloween, that’s for damn sure. Me and Bobby we still had time to fill up some candies with blades, you know, like the ones we be eating as kids then spread around at the park. those were great times. anyways, stay outta trouble and if you blow up I’ll kill you!

cooking in the kitchen, without a shirt
can drive a man crazy
raise your hands, up at that angle
I’m like melted water
thoughts rushing, rushing about you
I’ll tear you out of that dress
rip you apart
and have you for lunch
you’re still the tenant
for that corner property of my back
you can have it, have it all.
it was always yours, and never mine
always. from the beginning.

but now.
its like sleeping with strangers
but no longer fun

we order takeout now.
you fall asleep before me.
your shirt’s on all the time.
and there i lay.
tired drowning in computer magazines  and the laptop

and you sitting.

staring.

 148 seconds go!

master flex with the rest, moving out of the valley and up into the crest/didn’t you get my text that i had sex with kanye west? pounding on the ivory keys, please pass the anti-freeze cause the thalamus is forming my business class is boring waiting for the rain so i can play the coltrane, not colgate, ’cause i floss daily okay maybe that’s a maybe but i at least brush twice a day when my fellas go sailing, out in the marina wouldn’t wanna be ya, if you’re still reading this i hope i get to see ya working so hard my eyes about to fall out, chasing all the paper with senseless doubt, headed for the mountains the romanesque fountains the train is coming, its coming just around this

my friend left yesterday.

joey is gone to sydney, for the better part of a year. his tentative plan is to work and live at a hotel, as an activity coordinator. what’s an activity coordinator dude?

‘i don’t know, it’s like, when people want beach stuff i give them boogie boards’

and probably snorkel gear. the Israelites pronounce snorkel with a sh, like shutup. Shnorkel. ridiculous. so the boy is gone, another trip. i’m envious, but not so envious. i try to beat back-to-the-valley traffic now by heading over to barnes by work and read business journals and art magazines. it’s very chic chic but doesn’t really cut out my driving time all that much. Anyways folks I checked out the travel section: fodor’s, let’s go, lonely planet, browsing by country. and for some reason, I couldn’t really nail down a place that I’m starving to see. brazil, s. america, africa, thailand or india, i think that’s where i’m headed (regardless) but even those didn’t really jump at me.

perhaps the pictures were of sucky nature, but i’ve come to realize that this nomadic lifestyle, of going and coming, staying or leaving, it’s of cyclical nature, in that it comes and goes like santa barbara wind, october allergies, and a facebook application. ive got too much going on here, which is good. i have a new mp3 player (8 gigs!), a GMAT course, a UCLA extension course, a girl that i’m dating but have only seen once, a job where i’m the only jew. times are exciting, so what’s there to leave?

joey and i headed to skinny’s, a horrible pseudo-lounge in north hollywood that is even made more depressing by its airport decor. its completely devoid of personality. everyone who leaves, yep, they’re off to fly to eureka or memphis to see elvis and his distorted pelvis. i got hit on by a 32 year old (swear she’s older…but i was stoned at the time) who owns an accessory store or something. ‘you should just do whatevery you want to do right now. you’ve got another few years before you have to get serious.’ just a few more years….

new zealand is supposed to be beautiful this time of year.

i remember in granada, i was at the bumble bee, this hostel in the albaicin, talking with the usual stragglers - this was years ago-we went to the bar and ran into more americans and italians. there are a lot of misinformed people in this world for what’s its worth, and i hope it’s worth a lot, staying in one place learning, even the 9 to 5, there are advantages to everything. its a matter of perspective i guess. and how long it takes for the squirming to really affect you.

i give it a few more months.

something to get you through the day. sounds like the end of the world, aye?

life is crazy right now.  i am vaseline: spread over the city of angels yet still not lubricated enough, ripping apart on 5 hours of sleep (damn the electric clock!) the headshakes from lcd monitor systems pulling my eyeballs out of their sockets and pinning them to the back of my skull.

kenneth burns’ wwII doc, ‘the war’, is on pbs. check your local listings. 

i sat in my first class today in 2 years. it was fun. you appreciate learning more when you’re older, i think. and single out the annoying girl who sits in the front row and asks too many questions.

my newest favorite site!! fwa. artists and developers only.

i finally learned how to convert psds into html. havent done it yet, but i think i figured it out. yay. its time.

i miss being jewish. happy sukkot.

I take more puffs asthma inhaler lungs filling with fillings of smoke the gray matter of the dark matter the deli fruit platter my grandmothers Alzheimer’s forces her to steal danish cookies from 99cents store building blocks from potatoes stolen in Auschwitz cell block A arthritis from airplane factories slaves to the station we are inducing stress for the purpose of? tell me but i think i was happier in the shade painting with mud with the nighttime owls and daytripping tigers. memories and dreams squashed like bugs man oh man! is that swatter of societal sensibility big, bigger than both you and me and everyone around us. so what exactly are we living for but the chance to continue the farce or soul larcenything that has to do with securing funds and moving up the ranks which have no top rung in sight. we are chasing paper, the green slips for all the hopeful hits to do it all over again, make more of ourselves and keep the game going keepthegame going keepthegamegoing keepthegamegoing with no finish line but retirement confines, somewhere in santa barbara with the naked old men with sores on their necks. is this what we’re fighting for?

and I’m singing-up till the mountains-with a basket of eggs in my hands-and the teardrops on their faces-are slipping, into themselves-now I’m dancing-through the day-and the nighttime with fireflies, as my guides-if i take, too long-then i’ll call, might call-like obsessions I’m still hollow-drink the grape juice from the vine-the bees buzzing, too much action-drink some wine, to pass the time-get collective to the same beat-with their masks on, they start to run-and if you catch them, then they’ll let go-still I settle on the plains with my guns kept inside-riding moose up the river and the slivers of my tongue-can you hear? your soul pouring what’s not been shed-so just stop to feel the change-you can’t walk! in a vacuum-with those weights, holding you down-so start running through the water-did you forget, how to swim?-see it pass, through the rearview-if you’re looking, it’s behind you-you’re only what you see, you’re only what you see…-you’re only what you see, sometimes! sometimes! it’s what you, do battle with, that sets you apart from the night

the wordpress CMS allows you to see your site referrals…this is what google searches get people to this blog. the last might be my favorite.

You guys can at least comment on the piece I wrote.

Bastards. give me a thumbs up, or four thumbs down. whichever. but more is to come. and I update the my bio. its on the other page. read it. comment.

or don’t.

and in others news, i am completely in love with lesley feist. not in the creepy, awkward teenage stalker kind of way (i’m way past that) but just mesmerized by her music. go watch intuition on you tube. if it doesn’t make you contemplate crying then sorry to break the news to you, but you’re most likely an android and don’t have tear duct technology. sucks.

Most of her assistants arrive at nine thirty, but she prefers to get in early, at least an hour or so before the chaos of the fax machine and the switchboard operator sets in at the office. It gives her time to think, brew her second pot of coffee, review her appointments and schedule. It was to be a busy day. She drops her purse on the couch, and sits at her desk, staring at the notes she had written the previous day, the words passing before heavy eyes that did much of nothing.

Kitty Breddock feels as if she hadn’t had a solid hour’s worth of sleep the night before, her eyelids beg to close under the halogen lights. It’d been years since she had any trouble sleeping, since she’d fully mastered the visualization techniques she learned with her psychotherapist. The meditations aided to lay images of the fire finally to rest. For months they infiltrated her skull anytime she closed her eyes black, the blackness turning to red and gray, the colors melting and turning into one another, distorting into hell. It’s how she imagined the fall. They sporadically enter, usually on the anniversary when patriotism saturates the air, the television (which she learned to never watch on those days), and the radio. Even those, she managed to stave off though, with alcohol helping to abate feeling. A remedy that was essentially guaranteed.

She wanted to think of her son, wished it was him, yet he didn’t make an appearance. Work was also out of the picture, and instead she saw herself walking through her wardrobe closet, scanning her options for what to wear the next day for dinner. Over and over, she perused the selection, and even till morning, she hadn’t made a decision for the occasion. It was her co-workers’ suggestion to try and meet potential matches from online sources, and after some cajoling she finally relented and agreed to go for cocktails with an accountant named Greg who ironically works in her same building. They had never met before, simply because she was married before. They had made to go to Daddy’s on Dwight, close enough so that she could leave early with a taxi if she wanted yet far enough from work to ensure a slight moment of privacy. That’s what she thought, and what made her agree to go out with the first man since the other had slipped away.

‘So what did you do there?’ 

They’ll ask me as we’re driving through traffic in this prison of concrete

SUVs the new tanks on the street, go for out for lunch with the parents spend 12,000 gallons for one pound of meat.

No more kebabs, hamburgers, or shishlik.

I’m a stranger, in a foreign land, find it difficult to relate, much easier to discriminate.

Just after 10 weeks born again a man anew the dirt sieved away from Kaplan and his crew. And I’m fearing that I’m about to forget everything I knew, disappear like organic matter from the pages burning away through compost stages and slave wages because not everyone has the magic touch so Mike grab your chooparim and please pack up. And no, you don’t have to bring the kids this time.

What a hussle, this struggle. I’m just one, one of many enlightened with the ethic, to save Her before we wreck it. An army of soldiers with pitchforks and shovels, take some seeds on your way out for all your needs and troubles. Listen to the word and spread it. Grow your own food and if you can’t go biodiesel then ya better to go unleaded. 

Permaculture. Is what I’ll tell ‘em I discovered. To my mom my neighbor even my younger brother. But how can you explain a vision, a perspective, and whole new philosophy. cause I’m thinking: ‘Shit. I’m on stage. Is everyone laughing at me?’ Worms bins and bloody shins..gives me head spins. So little I know, just the tip of the iceberg, no genius at work, writing all these words. So has it all been a waste? This taste - a quick short breath of fresh air.  What do I leave with, but books and smiles and compost piles, could be here longer I think I’ll stay here for a while. 

I need more coats! More mud coats ’cause I don’t have enough my sand scorched skin just not quite rough. But I’m leaving now, on a jet-train with seeds in my pocket, I’m ready to rock it and grow me some rocket put me in the greenhouse take the keys and lock it.

Answer. To question number two, to Mike Kaplan and the GA crew.

Listen up because this is what it’s all about: When the seed turns to flower, the flower to tree what do you get but self sufficiency? So that’s it Bill, that’s permaculture. To me. Recreate yourself, live like a tree, keep ya head up, and listen to the beat.

i have a deep, somewhat fading obsession with world war 2. technology, warfare, movement, empires, philosophies, catastrophes, the movies, flappers, zoot suits, computer games, big band music…it’s almost pathetic.  almost.

sometimes i connect better with my grandparents and even great grandparents more than the ones who were actually involved in my seeding. yes, mom and dad are so real, so tangible, that my own dementia brings upon daydreams of baghdad, iraq, uzghorod, the czech republic, hungary. when i lived in italy i was prone to scramble and hunt for nazis among the alleyways of antiquity, peering from the tops of cobblestone arches making sure that those deadly kraut mg42s that killed broxman the week before was nowehere in sight, the coast clear for me to jump across and continue to my objective. or i’m playing the tarbouka with my grandfather ezra on a patio in the jewish quarter of baghdad, circa 1936, the sun elongating silhouettes across the cityscape, domes and mud buildings ignited with gold.  there’s food cooking, there’s always food cooking in this arabic house, and i get a nod from my grandfather. he smiles at me, blows out smoke and shisha, because life is good.

my grandparents fled iraq in 1952 after al-Huseini went the way of hitler. i think he was beat up, his wife also arrested for zionist activities. put in jail for 2 weeks for believing in a state for jewish people.  in the european theatre, matters were much worse, my grandparent’s families simply - what’s the word - destroyed. people, fathers, mothers, children, were put to death because of faith, a farce, a deranged criminal in a deranged time.  

my inquiry? my holocaust? i remember. i’m16. my gravitation towards all things nostalgic draws me towards our bar, where my family keeps the pricey alcohol it never drinks, an pictures pictures pictures, weding photos, trips to hawaii, bar mitzvah shots, my dad’s bar mitzvah invitation, report cards from when i was 7.

and i see this list. it’s my father’s family tree, compiled in 1987.  and it starts way way back, to the late 1700s, retelling the story of the neuman family, where they came from, names i can’t prounce. and some names are roots of families, branches of children extending, location and professions of distant relatives whose names I’ve once heard. but then are the gaps. names that dead end, a premature death, their existence and their being shattered early, histories and lives collapsing into a dark place of nothingness. 

erased.  

people were erased.  68 out of 72 people in my grandmother’s family were erased. 

today on yom hashoah, holocaust rememberance day, i try and remember those 68.

santa claus is pretty ridiculous, any way you look at it.  fat man in red coat, flies reindeer driven chariot, falls through chimneys. and thats how kids find playstations under pine trees these days. yeah. that’s the legend. 

im curious: when does it finally hit children that this myth is pure rubbish? that that just can’t be…it’s completely illogical, irrational, and unlawful entry.  tooth fairy, your mom convincing you of immortality when you were seven, the united nations…all a load of bs.

this permaculture course is almost over. im home in about 3 and a half weeks. im busy running past lessons in my head, recalling memories of worms and compost making and vegan pies and liquid fertilizer and building with mud and soil consistencies, thinking back and trying earnestly to make sense of everything, and how im going to use it.  technical practice aside, of which there is plenty, this week has been full of various enlightenments of my own actions and behaviors..

it takes massive amounts of energy to raise a cow for meat. its astronomical compared to vegetables. so why not go vegetarian? how much protein do we really need? how is it that americans eat meat or chicken twice a day, on average? why? i’ve lost the taste of meat. to be frank, its just hard to separate the environmental effects from my cuisine anymore.

why do build from concrete? its expensive, it breaks apart, it doesnt retain heat like other natural materials (straw bale construction), its caused injury and respiratory diseases, and its all rock. why has society sacrificed health and wellness for cheaper production? who wins in the end?

and the mother of all…sewage. what kind of idiots decided that the best way to deal with human waste was to put it in a bowl, and send it away underground with water in a complicated network of metal, corrosive pipes? then we invented chemicals to treat and clean the water, and make it safe for drinking? what? seriously. have you ever thought about this? we use clean water to send crap away somewhere else.

and this is what ive been waking up too in these past few days.  and ive been trying to understand the root of this problem. laziness? irresponsibility? or simply a lack of awareness that we can live healthier, more exciting, interesting, and fun lives, but only after we examine ourselves, our actions, and their consequences.  because right now, the sitation is getting worse, the problem trickier to deal with, the solutions requiring even more thought and contemplation.  my roommate describes humanity as a young thief who steals and steals from the liquor store. he comes in every day, takes more and more candy, thinking the old, aging owner isn’t paying attention. only one day, there won’t be any more to steal, and the kid won’t have anything to hide behind. 

then what happens?

okay. okay. so here it comes.

when i was younger my parents sent us to camp, jewish camp, as so many jewish parents do. only i’m not quite sure they did enough research to find something that aligned with their own philosophies (whatever they are) and so off we went to Gan Yisrael, affiliated and run by the Chabad movement. My fondest memory? Sitting outside in the sun waiting for popsicles and for my parents to pick me up, all while singing “We Want Moshiach Now!,”in a frenzy…I remember it being something like sports ‘n Jewish Jesus camp.

What I can’t understand, and what’s been holding me back so long, is this simplistic, quasi-pagan outlook on God that I’ve been fed since I was 4. “God is going to get you, God is going to help you, God killed my hamster, God was sweating and that’s why it’s raining in Buffalo.” How obtuse. How unintelligent. How pathetic. It conjures up that familiar Santa image - old guy with the beard, taking memos in a gigantic golden scroll. He’s watching you.

My clearing away of all that crap left me in the middle of Zen. Complete, total emptiness. Everything is nothing. nothing exists. life is irrational, and so what the hell is existence? what are we but simple amoebas running around trying to screw each other (financially,. socially, and sexually) to make more of ourselves? All this, the world, us, me, you, the chair your ass is sitting on, the computer screen, it’s nothing. Identity, the idea of I, ownership, possession, is ridiculous. Judaism is a fraud, it’s bullshit, it’s a bullshit fraudulent crutch for lost people to lean on for meaning, an answer for suffering, and a code of ethics in our lawless world.

And then I started seeing the connections.

First and foremost, Torah is solely metaphor, and nothing else. It’s a way of teaching culture and ethics through stories, because that’s what Semites do, and because we, everybody, especially children, love to hear stories. In kindergarten, at a bar, at the Cheesecake Factory…We love stories, so story is the method.

You with me so far? Maybe there were a bunch of Jews who lived in Egypt. Maybe. Who knows. I don’t. Do you? Can it be proven? Is that important. Not really. Unless you want get hung up on that for the rest of your life. But once you accept it as metaphor, and lose a bit of yourself, you start to shed pieces of your ego, which in Judaism, (and of course Buddhism), is the source of all suffering and pain.

I realize this has opened up a huge, bottomless box of ideas and directions. But my mind starts with God, first with what it isn’t. First off, IT IS MORE OF A CONCEPT, A FEELING, than anything. It’s difficult to grasp, and most of us won’t come close, because it goes beyond the physical, the tangible, the concrete.  It’s beyond human.  It’s not your moral accountant.  It is everything, and it’s nothing. It’s the embodiment of everything into one.  An interconnectedness of everything, a space where ego disappears, and all their is this ‘thing’ (it could be called bicycle, sexually frustrated kangaroo, God, or Google- your choice).  So is there a God? Much easier to drop the article. Is there God? Yes, there is God. What is so unfortunate is how this entire study has been bastardized by blind, unintelligent fanaticism. I’m not referencing anything or anybody. But I think it’s smart to maintain that fundamentalism of any sort is bad.

So if everything is everything, then I am everything. And so are you. And so is the basketball. I am the moon, the moon is the computer, the computer is your SPF 35 Sunscreen, your Sunscreen is your neighbor. It’s all the same thing! Salinger writes about it in Nine Stories, in “Teddy,” the child prodigy who at some point attains Enlightenment and sees that his sister is pouring milk into the glass, or “God into God.”  If everything is connected, then we can begin to understand the Golden Rule, found in nearly all major religions…

Love your Neighbor, Give more than Receive,  Treat Others as you want to be Treated. It’s so simple. It all returns to the circle of kindness and being fair to others, since we’re all part of this universe, the sum of everything.  The kinder we behave, the closer we come to this understanding, this understanding of this strange (I hope less so) God concept.

In Judaism, the central prayer is the “Shema Yisrael,” which goes like this:

Listen up people! The Lord is our God, the Lord is One!

It doesn’t read: God…He is the One..It’s meant to teach that we must strip away our hindrances of gender, physical makeup, and such, to begin to understand that everything is one, everything is a connected. Thus the prayer serves as a 3x daily reminder to see the world as one, and therefore, to treat others with respect and offer assistance and give whenever possible.  It’s NOT an incantation, a mantra for worship…’God’ doesn’t need to hear something, in a specific order. It’s more for ourselves than anyone else.

Wow. Alright. I think this should continue in comments, because that was a lot of writing. Happy exodus everybody. Liberate yourself from that which binds you. More on that later.

Remember when we built forts? Flanked the neighbors with water pistols and got arrested by the cops for trespassing? Stole popsicles, tripped home and you gave me band-aid? Do you remember lying about your report card? Do you remember who signed it for you? Ate frog legs in Shanghai? Skipped train fare in Venice?

Then he ran off to Peru to fight on horseback with the Zapatistas, get lost in waterfalls in the amazon, snap the necks of tenacious bears with his hands (now bigger, more adept), call home once in awhile before the Sabbath, bathe children when necessary, make love to iguanas and bury himself in indigenous earth.

“that’s your brother.”
“who?”
“him.”
“can’t be.”
“yeah.”
“he looks bigger.”
“well. he grew a lot. go say hi.”

had the first 20 minute conversation with my brother in 2 months. he’s in honduras right now. teaching orphans how to survive. big ups.

Started writing again. Spent a good 20 minutes looking for a story, and it all came back to Baghdad and my overexxagerated Iraqi heritage, my mom’s addiction to tea, my frequent trips around the world, adult ADD and crossword puzzles. Look no further than your own [dysfunctional] family! We’re not at all dysfunctional, actually. Normal, easygoing Los Angeles suburbanites who mostly fight about who sits bitch when we drive to one of our aunts house for one of the big Jewish holidays.  (It’s usually me or Gil)

Thank you David Sedaris, and thank you transatlantic flights!

edahn and I were reunited on sunday after my return my tzfat. six foot two, built, destroyer of carbs and anything low-protein, at once everything and nothing, seeker of truth and expert rumikub player, partner in crime and fellow quest seeker in this city. we’ve bussed, gotten rides, never taxid to tel-aviv, yet the days we share never pass without profound adventure, mispronounced semitic words, and bad gas.

the 16th proved to be a day of introspection after a whirlwind of events the day before culminated into a sad, fast collapse of an eskimo partnership. its led me to believe that life, this book comprised chapters of indiscriminate lengths, sees many, many characters phase in and out…some recurring, others not. and how does the story go? well we are writing, we are writing, we are writing.

thrill found us, or maybe we found it, yet again today in modiin, a brand new city 20 minutes from jerusalem, that city of immobile tension, cold rock and labyrinthian layout. modiin, we saw from our uncles moshe’s car, is assumingly designed by architects from the communist era school, as the skyline is predominantly prisonlike, nauseatingly urban. nextdoor, among the rocks is chava v’adam, an ecological farm with all structures built from mud or recylced material, and where the urban eskimo will make his home starting sunday till whenever he leaves.

“Dude, I so want to live here. this place is awesome,” edahn retorts. he was helping one farmer carry mud and create the foundation for a wood burning over for shoshana’s tent, manager of the farm at just 22 years.

“this is our future city.” “it’s the way to enlightenment. i mean, it’s on the path to there, to bring it about.” “your hands are really dirty. we got to go. moishe is calling us. im glad you got to see this place.” “awesome.”

we are writing…we are writing…we are writing…we are writing…we are writing…

like a prescription drug
repairs damaged cells, springs forth new, better ones
like a reverberating drum
dum, dum dum dum, the heart beats involuntary rhythms
uncontrolled boundless free
like an overused metaphor
she shines light to the edges,
bring laughter to the sides of the square
smiles softly while i cook kosher in the other room

you’ve done it
trapped my heart
in this comfortable prison
a heaven i won’t leave
manacled, painlessly to your side,
arms twirling twisting bending shaping to be locked in yours
breathing you in like the first breath

this cell is lovely
you can throw away the key