Sunday, February 24, 2013
Israel’s Wall of Madness
If someone would say: “Israel, Palestine and Golan Heights! And you have only two seconds to describe what first comes to your mind.”
Then I would immediately put into words two images that would enter my mind: “Mental asylum, and enormous bag full of the intertwined professional wires.”
Mental asylum, because how else to describe those long decades of lies, half-truths, and deceptions? How else to describe the state of things when the language loses its meaning, words turn to fragmented squeaks and shouts and people just don’t seem to get through to each other.
The wires would come to mind, because I am not only a writer, but also a filmmaker and photographer. Not by choice, but simply because sometimes, actually quite often, I also feel that the words do not suffice in describing reality. While working, I have to use wires, many of them. And I hate wires: all those chargers and fire-wires, the USB wires and other stuff. You put them to one bag and they tangle; you can never separate them, straighten them, and find two ends.
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