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It's worth it, it's all worth it for days like yesterday. Not days of happiness, for happiness is a selfish is a selfish emotion, it is something I have yet learn how to feel, has it I have not yet allowed myself to occupy such a vast part of my life. But days like that, days of beauty, of art and music and movies and expression, mine and others.

There was time before the exhibition and so I set for an hour in my old Cafe, where I used to sit all the time a couple of years ago, and is still the symbol of normality, where I’m not bothered and not pushed to get up and leave and I can take as much table space that I want for everything I need and I draw, starting something new and almost finishing it on the spot.

Thinking of myself I wrote, looking at the fashionable people, a girl with orange red lips and pale skin sitting with her friend who's wearing a flight attendant’s uniforms and talking about rented apartments and a guy working on a computer and talking to clients on the phone "I walked this path before" Thinking of someone else, someone Imagine almost, someone I don't know yet, I wrote "Sing me a song of tenderness and sadness and open hearts and love". My hand was shaky for drinking too much coffee, I was excited towards this evening, the future held many promises.

Like Amelie I finely decided to step out of my shell today and interfere with the life of others, and even more, with my own life, As Bastian Belthasar Brooks I left Filagrin, the night forest, and Goam, the colorful desert and went out into the would to fine a life, and more then that, to find a story, my story.

And in went like this:

Chapter 1 - Clone 5

A mirror reflected in a mirror, Stepping out of my self and splitting as hours later I've seen in a film, into 2 different people, the on-line me and the off-line me looked each others in the eyes once more and what started with a want and grew into a dare which grow into actual action went by.

Clone 5 is the tag name of a very accomplished young artist who's Graffiti I've been shooting for a while now. He makes so much of them that they just seem to be everywhere, that head of an over grown clone, making this city a friendlier more familiar place for many people who lives here.

I couple of weeks ago, we started to communicate through flickr albums, viewing each other's art and exchanging a few comments. The other week he posted photos of his exhibition. I dared and asked where was it showing, wanting to go see it. Now a big part of what I like about exhibitions why I feel comfortable in galleries and museum is that I can be by myself in them, that I can keep still within my though and not being forced to make the agonizing effort to interact with anyone. People don't ask questions. And I already imagine going there and leaving one of those "thank you for making this city a livable cyber space to me" comments and signing my online nick name on it in one of those black exhibition books and going away, unharmed. But then he massage me that since the exhibition's closing on Sunday he would have to come and open the door for me so I can see it.

I almost went with "forget it, I don't want to bother you" but I wanted it see it more then I was shy I guess, and so, this mean e-mails and phone numbers and text massages, it just screamed "not me".

Birds and clones and urban spray paint and colors filled the half gallery half class room space he had to move some furniture to able me to see everything. His stencils becoming a part of the works. And I could just feel a person there, in his art more then in himself. The last work, geometric constructed birds in all color of the rainbow, made, part by part. Free and yet not so free. It made me feel proud, proud to see what this man had created.

It was short, 10 minutes and the interaction got too difficult for me and I went out. And walking down the street, looking even more closely for clones I thought about a million things I wanted to tell him about his art and about myself but I didn't mind so much that I didn't.

And I walked to the gym and thought to myself, that as long as there is true beauty in the world - I don't need love. I want it but I don't need it, I can learn to breath and stand and walk on my own. And it was a comforting thought.

Http://www.flickr.com/photos/klone/

Chapter 2 - Sufjan Stevens

In the tower above the earth,
There is a view that reaches far
Where we see the universe,
I see the fire, I see the end.

- Sufjan Stevens, The seer’s tower

The Two personas in the mirror switches, the reflection standing out of the window, as I would see in a movie later on that evening, standing as if in the air out of a penthouse apartment in floor 46 blurry, but not let real as the actual person standing within the room touching the glass. The on line me becoming, the reflection of the off line me in the story that’s basically anther moment of beauty.

The guy next door to me always listens to cool music, and though we barely spoke once or twice, one of the first things I told him, standing at the stairway both of us searching for our keys while music he left on was paying from within his flat, was "hay, that’s sounds cool, what are you listening to?"

Later on, as he knock on my door to bring me the electricity bill, he said "If you want more music recommendations, I’ve got this blog in which I recommend music" and so, though we live wall to wall, close enough to some days to listen to one another’s musical choices, his blog became a very good source of exploring and expending my musical taste.

I like this type of Indi music, some of it is really great, but nothing prepared me for the perfection of sufjan Stevens. I was so off that morning, forgetting 4 different things even before I manage to get to the office, and I threw this album into the MP3 player without even noticing what it was. Then as "Black hawk war" started, I was standing just out of the office and I had to stop and listen to the whole thing without moving, being carries away by music and beauty and far away imaginary Americas.

I was sitting outside the Tel Aviv cinematheque and waiting for the midnight movie to start, feeling at first, that twist in my heart, solitude, as I watched couple kiss and people talk. And then I sunk back into the music and my drawing and my mind kept bringing up that Leonard Cohen’s line "you fixed yourself, you said, well, never mind, we are ugly, but we have the beauty".

http://salklitablogger.blogspot.com/

 

Chapter 3 - Movie

"When you smile the world smiles with you, when you cry, you cry alone"

- oldboy

There’s something remotely obscene about being alone in the movies, it took some guts for me to do so. People sitting in the dark, alone it sort of reminded me of those cheap porn theaters, all closed now, for Internet and DVD took their place - a bunch of lonely people looking to be thrilled. But the line I’m sitting at has 2 other guys sitting by themselves so I’m warming up to the idea of being there. Right before the light shuts down I feel that twitch in my heart, knowing I’m about to experience something and have no one to share it with afterwards. The movie starts and it’s so good, so well written and that feel of a different culture, a very esthetic and composed one just push that away from my mind. Still it’s hard not to have a chest to burry my face in and a hand to hold so tight when the scary parts flicker on the screen.