Tomorrow I wake up into the first real day of my return to Israel, before my return traveling (in 30 days)

Tomorrow, I am back to Sharon, Barak, Arafat, Falafel, Real Food, Sababa, Arsim, Ktaaim, My Life, My Family, Subaru, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, IDF, My Dog, and so much more…

I don’t want to stay here.

TLV-BKK 30/10/2004 via Royal Jordanian is all that I think off.

I am sucked into reality quite fast, watching the news and wondering why here we see pictures of Hamas members with Qassam Rockets and then running into a U.N. marked van, yet it’s not on the news anywhere else in the world.

Defending my country on IRC to the random trouble makers who come in bad mouthing me and my people. Yes we are not perfect, but we don’t run around on #spain complaining about the Basque do we? People should learn not to involve themselves and hand out blame for problems they don’t understand and probably will never take the time to…

I want to leave. I want to go back to where my problems are “Another Beer?” and staying a week somewhere because it’s too beautiful to leave. Where conversations started by the simplest questions lead to life long friendships, invitations into other cultures and sometimes just some insight on people, concepts and ideas.

Playing QianHong because it reminds me of the long train rides from Beijing to Chengdu or Kashgar to Urumuqi. Watching the forgien language TV stations because they show places far away. Finding I am more interested in friends that have recently traveled than those who are busy turning into the bourgeois.

Random thoughts, Just what I feel. Typing this up makes me feel filthy, like this is some blog and I am some teenager writing away not knowing that some day my creativity and passion might shrivel and dry up.

Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life.


No tomorrow is just preseason, I will get on with my life later.

TLV-BKK 30/10/2004

Is my tomorrow.

Look out for terror alerts to increase.

Every time the Liar-in-Chief sees the polls slipping or Kerry gain any advantage, a terror alert pops out. These fearmongers use the boogeyman of terrorism to keep the sheeple in line.

Who would benefit most from a terrorist bombing before the election? Think about it.

I know you might roll your eyes at this, but I'm so glad that you exist

I saw The Weakerthans1 last night at Club Soda for the Pop Montreal festival. What an excellent show. They played almost every song I wanted to hear save for Fallow and None of the Above. The highlights for me were Left and Leaving, Letter of Resignation, Psalm for the Elks Lodge Last Call, The Reasons - well, pretty much every song was a highlight. I left that show with a smile the size of the McKay Bridge on my face. The Weakerthans steal my heart. They are to my 20s what the Descendents2 were to my adolescence.

Beauty's just another word I'm never certain how to spell

Other News

I am going to:

  • Start managing my money more efficiently
  • Start writing my thesis3
  • Get off my lazy ass and go back to the gym
  • Start cooking more, as I've been slacking in that department and just eating toast and tea.
  • Stop drinking so much
  • Blaze it

Not necessarily in that order

And listen - about those bitter songs you sing? They're not helping anything. They won't make you strong.

Certain things have been on my mind lately. One of these is reading Wittgenstein in the light of Kant. I was at work on my break having a look at the Tractatus in between reading the Critique of Pure Reason and realized that there are are lot of similarities between the two. Another thing occupying my mind is a conversation with anonymous persona #2 re: reality, the Law/laws, and ontological entanglements. I need to do some re-thinking.

I drown the urge for permanence and certainty

Selkies may be the most beautiful creation under the sun

Bend to tie a shoelace, or bend against your fears, and say that we'll stay for one more year.



Being a science fiction fan, I should probably point out three strange things that have been happening to me lately. They are coincidences, but I feel as if I need to write them down. Before it's too late.

For the last month or so, I have been suffering major headaches. My doctor's told me that it's a "neck thing", but not all doctors are brilliant. It starts in the back of my brain and goes forwards to the front, and reaches a peak shortly before I go to bed. It sort of feels like a wave of energy flashing forward to encompass my whole brain. Which would be excellent, were it not energies spewed forth from the loins of Satan himself, and shot through my skin like magma, ejecting tendrils of pure hate as it breeds lesser demons behind my eyelids.

I am not unaccustomed to a strong headache, and it's entirely genetic: along with a most triumphant singing voice and unibrow, I inherited migraines from my mother, no doubt, though mine are not as cataclysmic as hers seem to be; up until lately I have not required anything but bedrest, fluids, and potent marijuana to stave off the attacks. My mother is not so lucky. She takes a heap of drugs just to stay sane. She is well and happy and lives in a town of three hundred, called Gull Island, in Newfoundland.

Most of my spare, home time is spent lounging around attempting to puzzle out basic English when I read. Xbox and Playstation are a fair no-no, when a headache is upon me. Computer monitors are well-within the fuck that area, and I have logged onto E2 for perhaps an hour over this last month.

Over the last three days, the headaches have all but vanished. Tylenol knocks them out but good, and I can go on with life without being snappy at co-workers and generally wanting to destroy all life.


For the last two weeks I have been experiencing odd dreams in which I can fly. And I know, sure, everyone has dreams where they can fly; where they are magic samurai; where they make passionate love to Britney Spears. These dreams are different. Flight is the common theme, and they happen every time I fall asleep, every single time. The more things change, the more they stay the same and I can always, always fly. It doesn't matter if I was having an extremely ungratifying dream in which I was a fat, balding accountant watching Seinfeld re-runs. I'd still be flying.

One of the dreams, I was standing aside a large lake in Scotland (I assume) with a huge, ancient staff in one hand. A light shone from a home or lighthouse across the lake. There was a sense of urgency to the dream. I had to arrive at the home or lighthouse ninety seconds ago, so I gripped my staff harder, and closed my dream-eyes. In my mind's eye I could still see the tiny beacon of light, and I said to myself, Now. I will be there now. And I vanish from where I was standing. That is where I wake up.


For three days, odd things have been happening in my bedroom. A couple of days ago I was sitting here, nursing a hangover and trying to descramble E2, wishing I had some Irn-Bru, or better, water. For no reason at all, my guitar pitched forward from its faithful spot in the corner and clonged onto the floor. I was so engrossed in trying to get my slow-working brain to work that I didn't notice any sort of sliding sound. I was not facing it, so I couldn't catch its movement from the corner of my eye.

Yesterday, after a shower, I closed my bedroom door lightly to get changed. I found fresh underwear, socks, wifebeater and pants. Staring into space I was, thinking about sleep or work or nothing at all, when everything that was on top of my computer--money, hat, notebook paper, CDs--fell onto the floor. Problem is, that's exactly where I was staring. I was looking right at this stuff, probably thinking, hey, I should move that offa there, when it fell onto the floor. It gets better: it didn't slide off, as stuff on top of paper is wont to do. It fell, almost flipped, and the CDs made a long clang as they hit the floor.

Here's the best part: just before turning on the computer today to write this, about fifteen minutes after I got home from work and as I walked into my room and the fan turned off. Hmmm. Thinking I am making things up, I check the dial. Nothing. I go to check the bathroom light--again, nothing. (I have an ensuite bathroom.) I check the main light. Nothing. The clock: black, no blinking reds to be seen. I go to the fusebox, flip the switch marked MASTER W/BATH up and down, and everything's copacetic again.

My powers are building. As for you guys, I'd suggest prayer. And soon. Before I destroy us all.

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