guess what? you don’t know me, but you know me.i’m the quiet girl at the end desk, making calls between staring into space.i’ve got loads of priorities, but you aren’t one of them.i sit in this chair at this desk between getting drunk on weekends.i’m living and you’re probably dead. so remember, you don’t pay…

you know you’re an unemployed college graduate when… you’re so bored that you find yourself smoking up at 2 pm on a weekday.

i’d sit along the swimming pool, dangling my legs, cradling an unlit cigarette between my fingers, watching an old fat Israeli lady swimming slow laps across the length. her skin, over the sun; her body, over the health; she’s smoked her way to a comfortable age where it’s too late to regret and to easy…

where you’re on the phone with your mom, discussing the future,and a bunch of 7-year-old boys sit and watch you talking,and one comes up and says, ‘at tzocheket o bocha?’so you have to answer to him, ‘tzocheket,’and after the worried 7-year-olds all laugh and dance around,sweet smiles and, ‘bye chamuda!’so you can laugh and wave…

everytime i visited the old city of jerusalem, i felt different. first time – forced awe.second time – refined awe.third time – actually prayed.fourth time – saw art.fifth time – checked off the ‘to do’ list.sixth time – resentment. …maybe it’s because it was post thesis on survival theory.…maybe it’s because i’m actually moving here…

so i just stayed up all night with a guy who was born in turkey and raised in italy… just talking and watching tv… he just left now to report to army service… how can i not love this place? adventure everywhere… and now i am not waking up to the roosters crowing…

i woulda been declaring citizenship today… no regret in my voice.gettiing off the plane felt different anyway. sure, i was excited. vacation!but it was about getting to where i had to go, doing what i came to do. in the taxi ride to herzliyah, instead of staring at he palm trees in amazement, i stared…

no. i’m not here. i’m on a plane, miles away. or right here. flying over starbucks and skyscrapers. i’m flying high and low. striking my wings against the air and forcing the wind away. away from me. away from skyscrapers. away from flames and smoke. so the smoke won’t reach my brother’s nostrils and choke…

a year ago i strolled through a surface of moons; darky-tawny-creme-brown moons of people, round circles of people sitting on the thousand year old stones of then whispering words of then now. there, behind the moons, i saw the stones through the glow of lightbulbs which i am farely sure weren’t there when the romansbabyloniansetc…