Monday, March 15, 2004

If you want to skip this whole rant, you’ll be smart. If you want to get the gist, drop to the last paragraph. If you’ve really got nothing better to do, than knock yourself out. Read it twenty times if you like.

It’s a question of identity. Who are you? What are you? You know you’re different, somehow. You act a little differently, you speak a little differently, think a little differently. Sometimes that shines through and it’s reflected on other peoples faces, in their reactions. It baffles you, it worries you, sometimes it drives you mad. You’ll start searching in different places, different activities, different lives. You start playing role after role, until you just can’t act anymore. You start to take the search seriously, because you finally realize that it’s not something completely intangible. Maybe. So you start to make it about you.

And that’s what this is. It’s about me. That’s all. It’s not a commentary, it’s not a series of articles, it’s not a documentary, it’s meant to be factual, or serious (to anyone else), or tasteful, or tactful, or sensitive, or inquisitive. It’s not a guidebook or a research piece or an artistic expression. It’s about me. It’s for me. Understandable any right to privacy disappears the moment it’s published, but it wasn’t designed to be private. It’s all experimental, anyhow. That doesn’t make it any more than what it is. Me. Random thoughts. Don’t like them? Join the club, I don’t like them all either. And that’s just what’s been published. There are nastier things up here. There are also beautiful and wonderful and pink and fluffy things that don’t get put down. Why not? Who knows. No one’s meant to learn anything from this. Not even about me. Perhaps especially not about me. Confused? Too bad. It’s all about me, as in for me. Anyone tagging along and skimming the random thoughts is getting a fish eye view of the ocean. Interesting, but you’re not get much in the long run.

Trying to figure it out? Let’s go over it again. This is about me. For me. For me, by me. FMBM. It’s the latest in urban wear. Look but don’t touch, because it’s an obscure museum with a lousy curator whom hasn’t explained nearly anything at all about what you’re seeing. In other words, stop thinking that you get it. It’s not about culture, or people, or religion, or politics, or behavior, or law, or history, or physicality, or opinion, or taste, or class, or economics, or time, or education, or emotions, or any of the million other things that you might be seeing here. They’re just characters, and caricatures. Nothing is portrayed fairly or properly or in any sort of relevant context. They can’t be, they won’t be. Because they’re not me.

I’ll switch to metaphor mode. Anything that anyone reading this that they can relate to is paint. I’m using it to make something for myself that’s invisible. It looks public, but it’s not. The messy palate doused in color, that’s what visible. What it means when I mix it together, that only I can see. Not that I can say what I’m seeing. It changes. All the time. No one holds up a painters palate and says, “what a work of art!” That would be ridiculous. Because it’s not art. It’s just something the painter uses to get from point A to point B. This is just point A, and maybe a tiny bit of the journey to point B.

Still confused? You’re clearly too normal, and I’m clearly too tired. Look, anyone who’s taking anything on here and using it to reflect on who I am, or where I am, or who these people are I randomly mention, or even if you’re using it to reflect on yourself for some unknown reason. Stop. You’ll do better to take up alchemy. This is no glass of water, and it’s not going to turn out any gold. It’s not written for any meaning that anyone is going to find. You can’t learn from anything written here. You’re not meant to, and I don’t want you to. Last time. Everything written on here is about me. If you’re looking for meaning, stop. If you’re looking to learn about Israel, the people here, or anything relating to the country, don’t do it from here. There are a million sources of education that are infinitely better, the best source being to actually come and experience it for yourself. This crappy little blog is nothing more than an ego-trip. Sorry if that bursts any bubbles, but that’s what it is. Sometimes there are things to share, sometimes there are things to vent, mostly there is nonsense that comes out for no good reason. Sometimes it’s nice, sometimes not so nice. Sometimes it’s honest, sometimes not so much. Sometimes it’s coherent, sometimes it’s like this. Sometimes it means something to me, sometimes it’s bullshit. It’s never meant for anyone to take it seriously. You want a serious blog, go read instapundit or something. Go read the Washington Post. You want to know why I write some of the things I write? Too bad, half the time I don’t know. It’s what happened that day, or it was something that was turning in my head, or I was bored and decided to post. If you’re sensitive to anything written here, don’t read it. It’s not meant for you. You’re not going to know what I’m thinking by reading this, you won’t know who I am, who the people are around me, what this country is like or what it means to me. You wont get any of that because I’m not prepared to offer myself up on a platter, contrary to what may have been previously thought by reading this. Now I’ve spent far too much time explaining myself for something that shouldn’t require explanation. This entire little shit blog is nothing but randomness and silliness, with some things that mean something to me. If youre still looking for more, well, good luck with that. One minor word on the country though. It's quite incredible. I don't do it justice on these pages and i don't try. Mostly i just bitch, and that's not fair. Seems i mostly complain about the driving. Well, guess what folks, i dont even have a license here, so don't fucking listen to me. Instead of bitchinig and moaning about a million different other things in life, this is the one i've focused on. Why? who knows. Sometimes you just need an outlet, and that's mine. I've been unfair about other things as well, or unclear. Deal. Maybe i should make more of an effort to paint a rosier picture. Or at least a fair one. We'll see. Frankly, i'm happy here. There are no people in the world like Israeli's, for better or worse. They'll tell you exactly what's on their mind, they're go painstakingly out of their way to help you, and they don't take shit from anybody. Problems? yeah, but no one stays here if they don't love it in one way or another.

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