Who hasn't been a Jew? My mum has, certainly me in my dreams. Who in central Europe hasn't? Probably only those who lack sensitivity, imagination, and a taste for books and history. Certainly I eerily sensed my past in the streets of religious Jerusalem, and you keep coming back to Poland, to visit no one, … Continue reading Who hasn’t
Gifted with the ancient, long-forgotten craft We take flight We see the shadows on the other side of the mirror In a world that has lost its concept of that mirror Still, instinct is awake, and somehow, ancestral memory is reborn through spontaneous perception. . Talented at an ancient art In yet another era of … Continue reading Gifted at the ancient craft
It was definitely a well-scripted play. Setting, surprise, suspense, culmination, resolution, aftermath, reverberations. A good portion of drama, directed by the echoes of the past, the fruitfulness and irritability of the moment, and a certain aesthetic sensitivity. Philharmonic sensitivity. When to increase the tension and volume, when to let it abate. The fallout was and … Continue reading Intergenerational trauma re-play
Could I learn from you – freedom? I felt your heart wasn't chained your mind wasn't chained. You had no securities and you were at times fragile and naked like a snail or the wing of an insect, still moist and sticky. . Is this enough to be happy? . I wondered how you'd come … Continue reading Freedom
There is no point in rushing oblivion Rushing forgetfulness. The imprint stays stuck in your heart for a while For a reason. An ember, a dried-up stick, half burnt. What's it still doing there, immobile. Seemingly useless. . I think sometimes If it's been thrown in under the right star sign It becomes a crystallisation … Continue reading Axis
Pasha, I remember your room full of suitcases, wigs manequins and – what the heck else? One of 7 rooms. Was your mum's spirit in there? . I remember they were made of leather, not plastic, and one of them said 1956? I remember the photos from Cambridge. How did you get through there as … Continue reading Found in one of the suitcases
Personal reflections on decades of pseudo-nomadism, packing, love, meaning, painting, and generally pretending to have an adventurous and deep life.