Love All Around The World.

There’s a dog wagging his tail, a couple kissing on the side of the street. It’s all the romance of the Earth twirling around us like the music on her spinning dress. They are there at the cafe, getting coffee discussing their former mates. They have wide smiles and wine filled stomachs for they love to laugh a little too loud in the dinner candle lights.

All the love in the world, but somehow we are just magical observers who gets a glimpse of the lady he’s pulling himself into. We look in the mirror at ourselves and wonder, “Who is that? How have we changed into this person?”

The reflection erodes our understanding of self and our egos are enlightened to the uncomfortable revelation of reality, we are not the center stage performer as we once were. There was a time of our moment in the spotlight but that time has come and may never come again, or at least it feels that way. Sticking to our way to big book, we can see the eyes gleam at us while we eat a sushi dinner for one.

They were mocking the scene across the bar, and the woman couldn’t resist to ask the question, “What book is that?” Turning around to pleasant eyes radiating behind circular glasses, it wasn’t a mistake. The thought that the couple had been staring this way for the past 15 minutes had been confirmed with one question.

“Lord of The Rings,” a voice answers, and somehow the next thing a person knows is they find themselves joining a meal for two as their plus one. Becoming a now third element to the type of couple family members pressure over wedding cocktails, “so when are you two planning the engagement?”

But there was no reason to disengage as she started to describe,

“In France, people start dating from the moment they go out. Right on the first date, that’s it, you are my boyfriend.” She looked at her man and smiled.

Now being in no rush to leave, we discover they’ve been dating for one and a half years and just moved in together.

In no rush themselves, she works here in Israel at a big time company dealing with blockchain of some AI program and he, being from Rhode Island, happened to find himself working as an employee for Fiverr and mainly as her man. A sweet, simple, yet modern couple. They couldn’t help but mingle with the meal words signifying a modified management of monogamy.

There was an impressive chord struck when she claimed she wants the kids to be raised by him while she climbs the corporate cubicle. France, apparently, spiced itself with the same spunky feminism of the west, and there’s a moment where we listen to the fresh take on old told notion.  

With the sight of their seamlessly solid twosome, we ask ourselves the subtle question, “Is this the new way for our future?”

Pondering the rules to the generation’s new game, we conclude, “Whatever the rules, will we be able to stick by them?”

Walking away with more questions than answers we think, “Who are we? And as a person, how do we view relationships?”

The time has come to try and answer these questions.

Friends tell us it’s time we go out and date, that we should step up to the plate.

But what are we trying to swing at? How was the pitch for a relationship up at bat? Will it even be a home-run across the globe?

More importantly, “Will these beliefs get us a definite travel ticket to the City of Love?”

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PLEASE!!**  Share your thoughts 🙂 That’s how we all learn and grow, Thank you!

He Likes Her, She Likes Him.

He likes her…

Because she is different, adventurous, spontaneous, completely illogical. She has the perfect amount of curves he’s called to, a captivating charisma, a confidence of core character. He thinks she’s a beauty both on a basic biological basis and in brilliance of a bold brain. Her arch in her back sends him wild to the sky, sending messages overseas in a bottle of opened vulnerabilities. He thinks of her as a princess, depicted in his mind as an ideal that can’t be shaken and scratches his head as he shakes off the slumper with another night dreamt of sleeping beauty. What a goddess in his eyes, a pinnacle of potential perfection. She was a light on to him, and he contrasted her glow. What was he to her? The shadow underneath, the repulsive underbelly of way to many nights cramming codes on keyboards. He wasn’t at her level, she was just too pure to be his. So he held out his hand and dramatically took it back, “I guess I’ll just go.” And on he went without her, mopping and trying to man-up, but he was a mess. Mortified to the merical of a possibility, “Could it have been us?” He types her a message in pain of a reply. Why does she barely reply?

She likes him…

Because he’s like a reflection, one with the shine of an extroverted magician, that can spark her fantasies of romantic affairs. He is the exact fit to her storybook ending, a man of charm, a lover of her world. She believes he is stable, even with his unpredictable consistency, he manages himself. She writes letters to him daily she never intends to send. A ritual act that builds up her love of his lips, a lust of the lingering link between them. She wonders about him as she wakes up in the morning, as she goes to sleep at night, and all throughout her walking days. He seems so far away from her now, halfway across the world. Many time zones away, she was ahead of his lifetime and she wonders if she’s ran too far astray. Was she ahead of him? Did she move too quick to capture his concentration? “Was she just too above him?” she’ll wonder as she writes these words on journals she’ll share to the world but will not dare for him to see. “I suppose I could reach out now,” she will say as she sends the first email, a response 4 months overdue. The hurt of her heart hangs hopeful at the positive reaction, but why does she resist to reply?

He likes… nobody knows.

Because his actions are off and the mood of time’s discordant records of behavior calls for him to not know what he wants. Is it her, or is it just,

Himself.

He likes himself…

Because he has the ability to choose what he wants and where to go, what to do. His freedom is first and frankly that is his choice. He admires his extreme lifestyle and is a diehard addict to a businessman’s pace. He replies back to her for himself. He loved her, he remembers as he trips over memory’s lane.

In love there is three sides to attraction:

He likes her, but she likes him, and he likes himself.

But maybe he also likes her?

Because she likes herself.

But him, the him that only likes her, never really likes himself.

So she can never really like him.

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Can We Ever Really Get Out of the Matrix?

See the rain fall down like a simulation, the crackled thoughts on the page. Believing most of our best thoughts come from corner set cafes and clouded conceptions of choice. Which pill to choose the one that’s red or the one that’s blue?

We want NEO so we have to be Trinity, the third that doesn’t equal three because she is him and he is she. Writing on empty, we have no shadow of purpose and somehow the mood slips away from our oracle and we all fall.

Walking in the splashes of numerical light, are we the one or just another agent of the agenda? Who are we? We walk, nothing phases us, not the shoe salesman who attempts to grab our hand at the door, not cab driver who tries to couple us up, and not even the same demons that define us, that follow us halfway across the world and back again.

Everyone in the world can just back off. Sickened by the amount of people who will just use anyone for free work without purpose. If there’s another Instagram post about how life only gets better, then why does the post only make us feel worse?

There goes another snapchat story about what a person does every second of the day like there’s even the point of living a life someone is constantly filming. Does everything have to be on camera? Such an invasion of privacy. How do we humans even take it anymore?

When the clock strikes 9:18am and we are late for work. “You have a problem with authority Mr.Anderson. You believe that you are special, that somehow the rules do not apply to you. Obviously you are mistaken.” (Mr.Rhineheart, The Matrix) Part of a system that we don’t comply to, we, the employee, has a problem and thus the company has a problem.

What’s the point of profit in a world where we don’t grow food to have a meal but catch one outside a pub or a favorite noodle restaurant? “I used to eat there. Really good noodles,” (Neo, The Matrix) we will say as we uncover the truth of the reality we are actually living in. None of it matters when we discover the codes. What does it all mean?

“That the Matrix cannot tell you who you are.” (Trinity, The Matrix) We are involved in a world of our own creation, manifesting at will what we birth to a new day. Tired. We are so VERY exhausted of the constant facade we show the “real” world. The working world, the world that everyone wants to appear to be a part of but not take a true part in. It is a machine.

A disgusting, non-feeling, multifaceted organism that we can’t escape even if our lives depended on it, because our life does depend on it. Our minds are addicted to the matrix.

We are slaves to it.  

Even as the letters get typed on this virtual page, these thoughts couldn’t reach a soul without the artificial exposure of the web. We are tangled in it. Forgetting the dramatic realization that we are the spider that set the silk. Trying so desperately to seek a way out of it, but how?

“The body cannot live without the mind.” (Morpheus, The Matrix) This mechanism of madness is a mental matter and the residual self-image of our bodies keeps us trapped in this prison of perception. Five senses not noticing we have any other ones.

We lose sight of what’s real.

Hearing nothing but endless beeping swoosh sounds of cars.

Smelling the sweet breads that cover up the hints of cigarette smoke and cat piss.

We taste nothing as we eat for sensation mindlessly, because when we touch ourselves we don’t have any feeling.

It’s a senseless place and, “Unfortunately no one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.” (Morpheus, The Matrix) Because, “It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.” (Morpheus, The Matrix) That truth is we could be so much more than just slaves to it. We could be the one, we could all be the one, to live that truth.

The first day that one wakes up and realizes that they have a choice, is the beginning of asking ourselves, “Why not stay in wonderland and see how deep the rabbit hole goes?”

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This is Not New York, This is Tel Aviv.

“Omg it looks like new york” she said with glitter in her blue eyes. I smile at her because, how could I not, she loves New York. She loves New York because she didn’t grow up 40 minutes away from it. The strangely familiar visual changed the whole perspective of the place. She was right, it did look like New York.

But it’s just not New York. The air is different and the music is warming. This is not New York. This is Tel Aviv. This is a city that knows peace because it knows war. This is a type of place that has a tough exterior, but a loving inside. Not that New York hasn’t had it’s battles and Tel Aviv is the land of always peaceful, but something about the side street falafel and hummus assures you of it’s family values.

The small hours wandering a museum of Yitzhak Rabin makes a person wonder why it’s always the person advocating peace who pays the price of resting in it. Why?

The city marked on miracles and misfortune can make a mensch out of a menace. But who else can become a mensch but one who has been misfit? “One can only make peace with their enemies” the Rabin says. I say one can only know hurt by being so.

Just as we women know love because we know heartbreak. We know proper educate because we know how to act a fool. We are both sides of the coin and we argue for both sides of the case. For love, all for love. Love that we will one day be there on that day of peace as one, one of love. And then it rains, then the people say to life, “l’chaim!” As we start to head down stream. The night after the full moon, and now we have an eb to this flow. A dance to this music. The splash sound to droplets of truth, the poetry of going out on a gloomy night. Because tonight even in lit up streets we prefer to be in the dark.

This is not New York, this is Tel Aviv. This is where we know ourselves, because we don’t know what we will become. Where a night taking the one bus becomes the one night we acted like we were number one. Yes the night life is always face up, so we put our drinks down. Why not be young and free in the foreign priceless memories of a person’s early twenties. We have our youth, we are single, and we can choose to do whatever we want. Who cares if Jerusalem encourages us to wear sleeves.

This is the city of Tel Aviv, who were they to know anything about us as we jog down the streets and pass on wearing a sports bra. Who are they to know what the context of our character consist of? We are here to be ourselves regardless of the fact that if we stop to take a breath from running we wind up unintentionally racking up a guy’s number without even wanting it.

No I don’t think I’ll be texting you my name. It’s just too Israeli, it’s just so Tel Aviv. It’s too forward when you aren’t even in the mood. But we just keep pressing on like a soldier. We are fearless, and there’s a proud pace to our steps. But we can’t stop running, and the silence remembers that we are still that little afraid girl.

This is not New York. This is Tel Aviv, the city of parties-parties, restaurants, businesses, and stores. The lifestyle is full of different sounds and beautifully lit hidden side streets. It’s a lotus in a pond and its petals are the walls of its skyscrapers. We aren’t protected by any of the realities of Israel even if all the apartments must legally have one bomb shelter room. Because this is so not New York.

This is Tel Aviv. This is a new spring that flows from the eternal soul to seduce us with sensual allure. “This is the place to be,” a small voice may tell us. There has never been one who could resist the thoughts of temptation surrounded in a such a holy land.

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