Spring, Summer, Autumn, Corpse


I’ve been a winter hater, like, forever. But never like this. This winter is getting on my last nerve and if I don’t get sunshine any time soon, I’m gonna fucking scream.

This past weekend, I was in Be’er Sheva.

And it simply. did not. stop. raining.

You know these people who love rain because it’s awesome to be indoors, in bed, under a big fat winter blanket, with a blasting heater, drinking tea or some shit. The problem with this so-called pleasure that these amoeba-brained winter-lovers seem to forget is that they are not bears and they don’t hibernate. They will not spend their entire winter in bed, under big fat winter blankets being all warm and cozy. Eventually, they will have to get their ass up, get out of their warm winter covers and into heavy winter gear – coat, tuque, gloves, scarf, boots, the works – and out into the wet, coldass, winter wind and frost and suffer every miserable minute of this crappy weather. Your warm cozy ass is nothing more than an illusion. Get your ass out there and face the everyday reality of the chicken leg you keep in your freezer.

After going through a whole weekend of nothing but rain, I got back home, doubled and tripled my layers, blasted every heater known to man and resumed detachment from this frosty reality under my enormous winter blanket.

This morning, when I woke up, I wanted to murder my blanket because it only served to remind me that I am indeed not a bear.

When is it gonna be summer already??? I want the sweltering scorching heat. I want to dress my daughter in shorts and a tank top. Fuck all these layers already! I wanna sleep in my underwear and wake up in a pool of my own sweat. Fuck these ice-cold fingers! I’ve so had it!!!

I honestly do not understand you people who love winter. You might as well love swimming in a pool of diarrhea. It’s all the same to me. The love of winter simply sabotages my common sense.

Peace, love, cold and stiff.


Star-Belly Pets


Last night, I dreamt I got a pet cat. It was gray with a white belly with honey-colored rather Asian-looking eyes. I named it Star-Belly. I took pictures of it with me and posted it on Facebook.

It was rather weird. I don’t particularly like cats. But I woke up with a nice fuzzy feeling and a faint, but very distinct, wish that I had a gray cat named Star-Belly.

The only time I had a cat I actually liked was when I was seven. It was a birthday gift from my uncle. It was a gorgeous little Persian kitten, with a tiny nose, a squished face, and long gray downy fur. I named it Fori. “Afor” is gray in Hebrew. And everybody kept calling him Afori, and it totally pissed me off every single time. I thought they were either deaf or complete dimwits.

“It’s FORI! Get it right!” I’d steam.

That cat stayed with us for a year until we had to give it away prior to our relocation to Canada. I loved Fori because it was unlike any other cat I’ve had the misfortune of running into. Except for its habit of making my mom angry by scratching the living hell out of all the furniture, it had a rather Canine attitude. He responded to his name, came when I called him, greeted me when I came back home from school, followed me wherever I went, fell asleep with me in bed…

Other cats I’ve had or met were being their annoying feline selves and felt it necessary to use my legs as scratching poles. And after moving back to Israel and seeing rabid stray cats littering the streets, whatever was left of my appreciation for the feline breed started waning.

I miss Fori, but I would give anything for a Retriever or Labrador puppy. Besides, I have better experience with dogs and I find them easier to train. After raising and training my own dog, Buxy, I learned that dogs have the innate desire and ability to strive to satisfy their owner. Stephen King accurately describes this attitude when talking about a dog named Betsy in his short story A Very Tight Place:

“When Curtis wanted the TV remote, he only had to say “Fetch the idiot stick, Betsy,” and she would pluck it from the coffee table and bring it to him in her mouth. It was her pride…
“Sometimes looking at the idiot stick on the coffee table and thinking (of course) of how happy Betsy was when she brought it to him. Human eyes hardly ever looked that happy, especially not when the humans in question were doing chores.”

Cats on the other hand, unless they’re Fori, are too independent to bother with such things. Sure, they can be friendly and fuzzy and all that fun stuff, but I personally love the constant interaction with a dog while training him and the strong ensuing connection with the canine.

One of these days, when I make more money or when the capitalist system finally meets its demise, whichever one comes first, I will get me a dog… and maybe even a Persian cat, who knows?

Peace, love and softy fuzzy fur

Meet Stella

I opened my window to find a pile of tiny twigs on my window pane. I wanted to throw them out but then I realized they were placed in a neat little circle.
It was a bird nest. I got my first sight of the bird early yesterday morning. It’s a bizzar looking pigeon. Small, brown, with a pointy beak. I unintentionally scared it away that morning and I didn’t see her for the rest of the day so I assumed she was gone. But this morning I heard wing flapping at my window so I knew she was back.
I christened her Stella. For no reason. I wanted to name her something and the first name that came to me was Stella.
I wonder when she’s due. It should be fun to watch her little ones when she goes to get them food. I also thought about putting a slice of bread for her on my window pane but I’m scared that other birds will come and steal it away, and maybe harm the baby birds once they hatch.
So until she actually lays the eggs, I closed the curtains so that she won’t see me and get scared. I’ll keep you posted about any new developments in the Stella affair.
Peace, love and I hate the news editor more than ever.