I arrived into another world. Passing through a busy market place, dust at my barren feet.
Animal hides hanging everywhere for sale, their colour mixing with the colour of the sand and the sun.
When I met him, he smiled at me, with warmth and just a dash of lust and said my body is perfect.
Just as I started to feel that same smile spreading from inside of me to my lips, he explained:
“Perfect. For a death mask”. I didn’t know things are so different in this world.
I didn’t know a woman’s death is glory. The Great Leader chose with regularity one with a perfect body to be sacrificed. Women, dried to parchment, their skins spread like animal hides, each framed into a horrifying picture. There was hierarchy too, the closer the picture to the Great Leader, the more valuable.
He promised to value me low, so my dried death mask gets tossed away and he can keep me. This way, we would stay together forever. He would sit below my painting, below me and sip his drink. He said, with the same smile. I tried to explain that I’d love that very much, if only I could be alive. I’d love for us to be together forever, but I can only enjoy it if I am alive.
He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why I don’t want to die now in order to be with him forever.
I don’t know how I got back to my world, all I know that now, years later I saw him again. I was passing through the market place, holding the tiny hands of my children. I caught his eye and he gave me a forgiving smile. He still didn’t understand, but he no longer wanted to take me back to that horrible world, where life must be exchanged for eternal love. What a horrible bargain. I hate market places.
Ok, I know this was very weird, but it was a dream and I had to get it out of my head. and my life. ugh.
Tuesday 21 August 2007
Thursday 19 July 2007
ER Istanbul
...the hospital doors flung open, Decline being rushed into the busy ER on a stretcher carried by two Turkish paramedics, gasping for air, twisting in agony:
"Quick! It's another kebab overdose!"
They hooked her on intravenous diet Coke immediately.
"Give her 20 mg of mash!" "Wait, she might be allergic to it!"
" Try to neutralise the kebab with 100 mg of lager instead! "
" we're losing her, hurry!"
___________________________beeep____________________
another kebab victim... sigh, sigh...
"Quick! It's another kebab overdose!"
They hooked her on intravenous diet Coke immediately.
"Give her 20 mg of mash!" "Wait, she might be allergic to it!"
" Try to neutralise the kebab with 100 mg of lager instead! "
" we're losing her, hurry!"
___________________________beeep____________________
another kebab victim... sigh, sigh...
Saturday 14 July 2007
Can I have a menu please?
excerpts from a Romanian menu, in a posh restaurant in Bucharest:
'Fried pressed cheese served with cheese'
'Polenta with butter, sweet cheese, salty cheese, cream and a fried egg'
I won't even comment these two. Knock yourself out.
excerpts from a Georgian menu in an expat restaurant in Tbilisi:
'Muzhuzhi' (errr, no idea, but it was written in three different alphabets).
'Soaked piglet' (this one almost made me cry, since I got a mental picture of Piglet from Winnie-the-Pooh arriving at our table, soaking wet and asking in a trembling voice: 'did you order me?')
'Chicken on spit' (yes, that's how I like it. It will still taste like chicken...)
I've got more, but then again, picking on Eastern European food is just like picking on Bush's intelligence (or lack of)... dead easy.
'Fried pressed cheese served with cheese'
'Polenta with butter, sweet cheese, salty cheese, cream and a fried egg'
I won't even comment these two. Knock yourself out.
excerpts from a Georgian menu in an expat restaurant in Tbilisi:
'Muzhuzhi' (errr, no idea, but it was written in three different alphabets).
'Soaked piglet' (this one almost made me cry, since I got a mental picture of Piglet from Winnie-the-Pooh arriving at our table, soaking wet and asking in a trembling voice: 'did you order me?')
'Chicken on spit' (yes, that's how I like it. It will still taste like chicken...)
I've got more, but then again, picking on Eastern European food is just like picking on Bush's intelligence (or lack of)... dead easy.
Monday 9 July 2007
Negotiations
I have negotiated half my life for the other half.
I’ve negotiated graces, big and small
I’ve negotiated spaces on dirt roads between two cars,
between a lazy cow and death.
I have negotiated passages into countries yet to come into existence
and I have negotiated checkpoint Charlies yet to grow a beard.
I have negotiated imperfect grammar for perfect understanding
and I have negotiated languages in seven tongues.
Yet, I have not negotiated a tongue, or a lip.
I have negotiated curfews and freedoms
Values and ideas and ideals.
And I have negotiated wooden souvenirs.
Non-negotiable, yet unconditional.
Non-negotiable, he said.
I have not negotiated love.
I’ve negotiated graces, big and small
I’ve negotiated spaces on dirt roads between two cars,
between a lazy cow and death.
I have negotiated passages into countries yet to come into existence
and I have negotiated checkpoint Charlies yet to grow a beard.
I have negotiated imperfect grammar for perfect understanding
and I have negotiated languages in seven tongues.
Yet, I have not negotiated a tongue, or a lip.
I have negotiated curfews and freedoms
Values and ideas and ideals.
And I have negotiated wooden souvenirs.
Non-negotiable, yet unconditional.
Non-negotiable, he said.
I have not negotiated love.
Monday 2 July 2007
Wednesday 27 June 2007
Dear Secret Service Person
Dear KGB/Stasi/StB/whatever agency person,
I just wanted to say that if you still think me or my family pose a threat to any system or regime and you feel the need to record information about me, or follow any of my family members, tough shit, we got nothing. We're useless to you.
Ok, by now I crossed over to weirdoland (I've actually heard now Pod say 'Oh, no, you were born in weirdoland! You are weirdoland's president!'), so let me explain.
I watched Lives of Others (Das Leben der Anderen) and it got me thinking...duh. As some of you may know, I grew up in a Communist country. No, not Italy, you pseudo-commies! :) Czechoslovakia. Which still wasn't spying on its people on the same scale as East Germany (well, they did a trial run and it worked for them, who knew?), but nevertheless, you knew when you're outside the 'circle of trust'. My family, along with other Jews, knew that since 1952-the Slansky trial ( fantastically documented by the 1970 Costa Gavras movie L'Aveu- and yes, yes, we love Yves Montand! ), Jews were largely out of the circle of trust, unless they wanted to be part of a congregation, in which case they had to collaborate with the Party and the minimum sign a piece of paper, or actually asked to be spies.
As the archives opened after 1989, there was a rush to see who was with, who was against, who is who. Surely enough, my step grandpa's name was on the list, but according to my Dad, he had to sign something, otherwise they wouldn't let him out of a GULAG. I say, sure, what the hell, after being a miner for 12 years in Siberia I'd also sign anything.
The archives have been put on the internet. You can see a scanned page with names and dates of birth and a 'status'. My dad is listed as a 'suspicious person', code name GOLD. in english. Gold? Ok, my dad does have a fairly big nose, but he is not that hairy and has blue eyes. Still, can we be stereotypical and faithful Communists? yes! Ok, then, let's go for it!
After watching Lives of Others, a friend of mine asked me if I have a file with the StB, which was the Czechoslovak equivalent of the Stasi or the KGB. I said no, but then I thought about it and went back to the online archive. No, I don't. Children were not a liability to the system, unless you lived in East Germany, where kids in kindergartens were trained how to spy (suddenly Spy Kids gets a whole new meaning...)
The same friend then said that I might not have a file in any of the former Eastern bloc contry, but having the passports that I do, speaking the languages that I do, and having worked in human rights issues that I did, he bets his English arse that I probably have a file with the CIA, the Shin Bet and who knows who else.
Bottom line: I don't care. As I said. I got nothing. I'm only suspicious to ignorant xenophobes or to people who never left their own country/village. Does my cosmopolitan identity (note: this a term I chose over equal opportunities slut and a global alcoholic) make me suspicious? Nope. So, one message: please get over yourselves. The rest of the world is not interested in secret stuff. Unless all of you look like James Bond and act like James Bond. No? Didn't think so. Ok then, leave us alone, go, play some secret games, without bothering ordinary people!
I just wanted to say that if you still think me or my family pose a threat to any system or regime and you feel the need to record information about me, or follow any of my family members, tough shit, we got nothing. We're useless to you.
Ok, by now I crossed over to weirdoland (I've actually heard now Pod say 'Oh, no, you were born in weirdoland! You are weirdoland's president!'), so let me explain.
I watched Lives of Others (Das Leben der Anderen) and it got me thinking...duh. As some of you may know, I grew up in a Communist country. No, not Italy, you pseudo-commies! :) Czechoslovakia. Which still wasn't spying on its people on the same scale as East Germany (well, they did a trial run and it worked for them, who knew?), but nevertheless, you knew when you're outside the 'circle of trust'. My family, along with other Jews, knew that since 1952-the Slansky trial ( fantastically documented by the 1970 Costa Gavras movie L'Aveu- and yes, yes, we love Yves Montand! ), Jews were largely out of the circle of trust, unless they wanted to be part of a congregation, in which case they had to collaborate with the Party and the minimum sign a piece of paper, or actually asked to be spies.
As the archives opened after 1989, there was a rush to see who was with, who was against, who is who. Surely enough, my step grandpa's name was on the list, but according to my Dad, he had to sign something, otherwise they wouldn't let him out of a GULAG. I say, sure, what the hell, after being a miner for 12 years in Siberia I'd also sign anything.
The archives have been put on the internet. You can see a scanned page with names and dates of birth and a 'status'. My dad is listed as a 'suspicious person', code name GOLD. in english. Gold? Ok, my dad does have a fairly big nose, but he is not that hairy and has blue eyes. Still, can we be stereotypical and faithful Communists? yes! Ok, then, let's go for it!
After watching Lives of Others, a friend of mine asked me if I have a file with the StB, which was the Czechoslovak equivalent of the Stasi or the KGB. I said no, but then I thought about it and went back to the online archive. No, I don't. Children were not a liability to the system, unless you lived in East Germany, where kids in kindergartens were trained how to spy (suddenly Spy Kids gets a whole new meaning...)
The same friend then said that I might not have a file in any of the former Eastern bloc contry, but having the passports that I do, speaking the languages that I do, and having worked in human rights issues that I did, he bets his English arse that I probably have a file with the CIA, the Shin Bet and who knows who else.
Bottom line: I don't care. As I said. I got nothing. I'm only suspicious to ignorant xenophobes or to people who never left their own country/village. Does my cosmopolitan identity (note: this a term I chose over equal opportunities slut and a global alcoholic) make me suspicious? Nope. So, one message: please get over yourselves. The rest of the world is not interested in secret stuff. Unless all of you look like James Bond and act like James Bond. No? Didn't think so. Ok then, leave us alone, go, play some secret games, without bothering ordinary people!
Monday 25 June 2007
A Jewish Confession
Forgive me reader, for I have sinned. It's been over a week since my last post. Since then, I have committed the mortal sin of travelling to Colombia and breaking my laptop, both of which led me down the evil path to negligence. Yada, yada... Now! Give me my punishment! Anyone can participate in naming the sort of punishment. I will decide which one to fulfill, based on its originality. And speaking of originality (or lack of?), yes, I wrote the Inside of my Head. I'll accept extra punishment for that.
Sunday 10 June 2007
Highway code
This entry is prompted by Roman Totty's (aka Pod) comment on my little happy poem (below: The inside of my head), which alerted me to the fact that some of you might be kinda freaked out by my entries or might vomit after incidentally ingesting my writing.
So, if you are reading my blog, please sign the following agreement:
I, _______________ subject myself willingly to mental punishment inflicted upon me by reading Decline of civilisation's blog.
Sign here____________________ and date here _________________
Once signed, please stamp (any stamp will do, if you have a giraffe stamp even better) and post to:
The International Ministry for the Waste of Time
Rue de la Plue
Brussels
Belgium
So, if you are reading my blog, please sign the following agreement:
I, _______________ subject myself willingly to mental punishment inflicted upon me by reading Decline of civilisation's blog.
Sign here____________________ and date here _________________
Once signed, please stamp (any stamp will do, if you have a giraffe stamp even better) and post to:
The International Ministry for the Waste of Time
Rue de la Plue
Brussels
Belgium
Friday 8 June 2007
The inside of my head
The inside of my head is soft and wet
The inside of my head is sometimes sad.
The inside of my head is mushy and gooey
The inside of my head is a little bit chewy.
Chewy? Yes, said the cannibal inside my head,
I’ve been eating it and not paying rent.
The inside of my head…
tastes just like chicken!
The inside of my head is dark and soft,
The inside of my head is big as a loft
There are twists and bends and wires
From which the cannibal sometimes tires
Especially if he had too much chicken...
The inside of my head is also trees, wind and a clearing
The inside of my head is you, me and we’re screaming
The inside of my head is grey and purple and red
The inside of my head is the beginning, the middle and end.
The inside of my head is sometimes sad.
The inside of my head is mushy and gooey
The inside of my head is a little bit chewy.
Chewy? Yes, said the cannibal inside my head,
I’ve been eating it and not paying rent.
The inside of my head…
tastes just like chicken!
The inside of my head is dark and soft,
The inside of my head is big as a loft
There are twists and bends and wires
From which the cannibal sometimes tires
Especially if he had too much chicken...
The inside of my head is also trees, wind and a clearing
The inside of my head is you, me and we’re screaming
The inside of my head is grey and purple and red
The inside of my head is the beginning, the middle and end.
Wednesday 6 June 2007
Little pleasures in life
Yes, this will apparently be an offensive blog. Oh and rude as well. No cows will be sacred, no faces covered and no names unspoken. Everything is game. Having said that, nothing will be done with the intention to offend, it's just that it is about time people stop taking themselves seriously. Lighten up!
In order to make it easier for people, well, see for yourselves. I've been wondering around the office this afternoon with this little bag in my hand, giggling and asking people: "Would you like some ding-dong?" Mixed nuts!
In order to make it easier for people, well, see for yourselves. I've been wondering around the office this afternoon with this little bag in my hand, giggling and asking people: "Would you like some ding-dong?" Mixed nuts!
I know, I know, I'm walking the thin line of childish vs. child-like. Still, free entertainment in a London office space, even if just for a few minutes!
Tuesday 5 June 2007
Blogger, blogger, come out and play! Blogger, blogger, what you have to say?!
So. TT's comment made me think- what is my blog for? So, I went to a bunch of blogs and categorised them. In fact, I did something completely forbidden at my so PC peaceloveandunderstanding job. I boxed and stereotyped people!!! Oh, and I'm really excited about it and don't think I will go to hell for it. (I will go to hell for being Jewish and everyone who watches South Park and/or listens to Mel Gibson knows that)
So, types of bloggers:
Those that keep friends and family informed about their travels:
Example: the wannabe cool hippie (but in fact a totally uncool - still hippie:
"Oh man, I've just came back from Abkhazia, and it's not a country, but in fact it is and the people who live there are cool, 'cause they grow all sorts of stuff and they are happy, although they don't have a country, except they do, you know what i mean man?"
Errr, no, we don't know what you mean, we will rather go and watch Michael Palin climb the Himalayas. Next!!!
The political blogger:
Usually, with a zillion links to political sites, I will eat my shorts if there is one that doesn't include a link to either www.freetibet.burma.palestine.org or a www.god.is.so.cool.org or a www.secularismrules.com or ... basically, a www.iamright.youarewrong.org (or was it www.screwyouropionion.com?)
The diary blogger:
"...yesterday I dreamt that a giant moon swallowed the Earth and I totally think it symbolises... " Yes. Of course it symbolises whatever you want it to be. It's your dream, leave us out.
Oh and what you did yesterday? Nope, checked with others- we don't care!
The philosophical blogger: just like the political, but there is a question mark at the end of each political statement (you coward). Less links.
The artsy blogger: well, let's see. the film lover: Loads of pictures of naked men (ok, some of us know who that is) from various movies. The particular blogger put up a comment recently: "i saw loads of visitors on my site for a long time, some from different countries, yet, none of them left a comment". hmmm.... dear oh dear. Someone talk to the boy. Please don't forget that part about 'losing innocence' and of course 'never accept sweets from strangers, especially if they lay a path with candy to the nearest public toilet'.
There are waaay more categories, but I'm done picking on people, I had my fun for the day! (who said you can't have fun with clothes on?) But one last category:
The real bloggers.
People who cannot express themselves in real life and have to resort to the virtual because they are afraid. Of being judged, sometimes not in a literally sense- i.e. freedom of speech is still limited to some parts of the world- while others are scared of being judged by their peers/relatives.. for what they say, when they say it and how they say it. Either because they think no one understands them (most of the time they are right- we don't understand you!) or they have a Jewish mother, in which case, not even a blog will help you, you're doomed.
I don't know what kind will my blog be. I will try to make it reflect my life here and now. For me. for later.
So, types of bloggers:
Those that keep friends and family informed about their travels:
Example: the wannabe cool hippie (but in fact a totally uncool - still hippie:
"Oh man, I've just came back from Abkhazia, and it's not a country, but in fact it is and the people who live there are cool, 'cause they grow all sorts of stuff and they are happy, although they don't have a country, except they do, you know what i mean man?"
Errr, no, we don't know what you mean, we will rather go and watch Michael Palin climb the Himalayas. Next!!!
The political blogger:
Usually, with a zillion links to political sites, I will eat my shorts if there is one that doesn't include a link to either www.freetibet.burma.palestine.org or a www.god.is.so.cool.org or a www.secularismrules.com or ... basically, a www.iamright.youarewrong.org (or was it www.screwyouropionion.com?)
The diary blogger:
"...yesterday I dreamt that a giant moon swallowed the Earth and I totally think it symbolises... " Yes. Of course it symbolises whatever you want it to be. It's your dream, leave us out.
Oh and what you did yesterday? Nope, checked with others- we don't care!
The philosophical blogger: just like the political, but there is a question mark at the end of each political statement (you coward). Less links.
The artsy blogger: well, let's see. the film lover: Loads of pictures of naked men (ok, some of us know who that is) from various movies. The particular blogger put up a comment recently: "i saw loads of visitors on my site for a long time, some from different countries, yet, none of them left a comment". hmmm.... dear oh dear. Someone talk to the boy. Please don't forget that part about 'losing innocence' and of course 'never accept sweets from strangers, especially if they lay a path with candy to the nearest public toilet'.
There are waaay more categories, but I'm done picking on people, I had my fun for the day! (who said you can't have fun with clothes on?) But one last category:
The real bloggers.
People who cannot express themselves in real life and have to resort to the virtual because they are afraid. Of being judged, sometimes not in a literally sense- i.e. freedom of speech is still limited to some parts of the world- while others are scared of being judged by their peers/relatives.. for what they say, when they say it and how they say it. Either because they think no one understands them (most of the time they are right- we don't understand you!) or they have a Jewish mother, in which case, not even a blog will help you, you're doomed.
I don't know what kind will my blog be. I will try to make it reflect my life here and now. For me. for later.
On blogging
Watch this space.
Not now, you cuckoo person! Later when I post some hopefully either very intelligent or very funny or uber-stupid (yeah, i plan to do that!) posts.
Not now, you cuckoo person! Later when I post some hopefully either very intelligent or very funny or uber-stupid (yeah, i plan to do that!) posts.
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