Its not meant to be

I got to share this song with the world. and even if no one heard it, at least I know I put it out there and the lucky ones will get to see it. Anyhow, today is Yum kipur in Israel and it feels like preparing to escape to a lonely island trying to get whats in store so you will not feel the total silence and boredom at its best. Somehow, if one fasts the right way without the hysteria of the so called "rules", maybe one should find redemption in the forced silence eternal thirst and hunger physically and metaphorically. My friend told me that this is how she takes those 24 hours of fasting, to cleanse, to loosen, to observe, to dive in , to objectively see your body as a tool that hold the soul. The soul that hurts the others, the self, the surrounding, the air, the waves, the cycle. Moreover, it seems nice to do it if one lives without any spiritual awareness, but today I will pass, because I chose to stay a selfish hungry bitch who satisfies her immediate needs and wants. Bam Baaaaaaaaa.
Have a wonderful year with great authenticity, joy, gratefulness, gratitiude, acceptance, wonder, creativity, love and Health, Oh and Amazing inspiring music. Kiss and love from Mae



I feel like writing publicly on this early Sunday morning when all the recent endings and starts have reached a choking ache in my throat. Despite the fact that I am healthy once again after two days of difficult aches and pains all over my body, my heart feels flooded with something. Many doors have been closed in my face, and it seems like I am standing in the middle of all those doors spinning and spinning around until today I couldn't spin no more and decided to write to the world, for the reason that maybe someone will understand.  This feeling to share to open up is the only cure for such a situation, I mean there is not one solution. Nostalgia is a complicated one word to define such a broad topic, which involves so many dreams, whirlpools, aches and wonders. I feel like everything around me like the music in the radio, the smells from the window, the way I look in the mirror, the Television, Facebook, is signaling me to messily jump from the one chronology of my life to the other. A couple months ago I used to have this dream of happiness and it was a simple dream of sitting in a car with an open window, feeling secure in the sun, driving somewhere sporadically blasting oldies and just feeling superior to the mystical feelings that run in my mind that choke me at most, and sometimes bring ease and a feeling of satisfaction. 
I don't know what to think for now, it seems I need to make many difficult decisions, yet the feeling of spinning and not walking in a straight line have led me astray. Now after I feel, I shall slowly pack my stuff, all my metaphoric stuff that pull me down, which I need to organize carefully so I can even understand what I have inside my bag. What now? the only solution that comes to my mind is, breath, take it easy, slowly, but how can I listen to it when I feel overwhelmed by the phases, by the air, by the sky, by the time. Why do I feel so old today, but at the same time ready to fly. Ready to fly somewhere new and full of wonder, to get rid of the order of my life to feel reborn. I want the doors to open , I want to feel in sync with everything that goes on around me, to know, and to trust that the process of life is as is. This feeling of longing does inspire me but scares me as much. 
I miss my friends who are all not closed to me, my soul sisters and brothers which I have acquired throughout the years, which vividly remain in the nostalgic spinning. 
I wish myself not such a hard fall, but quite a gentle bruise that will leave a strong callus and will only raise me stronger and easily up to something meaningful and secure. 
love you from Mae.

(Not my painting, but I love its feeling)


Turn me on Like a Radio.

There is nothing i like more than Discovering and Re-Discovering the briliance in Musicians. They have it all and I am envious of them, yet to grateful for their existence, cause without the ones that decorate your soul, what will dictate the pumps of your heart's beating, if not breath taking Music. Joni is a masterpiece, and the more i get to know her, the more I fall in love with her, and in awe how she shines through her with her Sound, Lyrics, art, weird twists, and the individual touch that she only has to herself, and no one else even reaches her feet. That is why is it hard to get introduced to new modern music because it always "sounds like". Its nice to carry on the feeling of inspiration, and carry their messages across my days, and hopefully one day it shall burst out in some form of a shape into my life, and come out of me as if i was Ginny in a bottle.
If you're driving into town 
With a dark cloud above you                                                                    Turn Me on like A Radio. 
Dial in the number 
Who's bound to love you 

Oh honey you turn me on 
I'm a radio 
I'm a country station 
I'm a little bit corny 
I'm a wildwood flower 
Waving for you 
Broadcasting tower 
Waving for you 

And I'm sending you out 
This signal here 
I hope you can pick it up 
Loud and clear 
I know you don't like weak women 
You get bored so quick 
And you don't like strong women 
'Cause they're hip to your tricks 

It's been dirty for dirty 
Down the line 
But you know 
I come when you whistle 
When you're loving and kind 

But if you've got too many doubts 
If there's no good reception for me 
Then tune me out, 'cause honey 
Who needs the static 
It hurts the head 
And you wind up cracking 
And the day goes dismal 

From "Breakfast Barney" 
To the sign-off prayer 
What a sorry face you get to wear 
I'm going to tell you again now 
If you're still listening there 

If you're driving into town 
With a dark cloud above you 
Dial in the number 
Who's bound to love you 

If you're lying on the beach 
With the transistor going 
Kick off the sandflies honey
The love's still flowing 
If your head says forget it 
But your heart's still smoking 
Call me at the station 
The lines are open

© Joni Mitchell 


Shake You

Woo I woke up with such a startled response to such a strange dream. You know this feelings how you wake up and divert your attention, knowing inside how you wish to capture this bouncing dream in and out of your consciousness, and pfff it disappears in Mili seconds. Now, as beginning to write, the dream vividly came back to me; the feeling, the sensation, walking down the streets of Manhattan and screaming haaaa there is my restaurant, this is my Deli. It does not matter so much what dream it was, yet the fact that when one begins to use somewhat of his creative outlets, the most intimate and real places come out from within him. I need to get organized in my head, i need to make more art, Listen to new music, do something that hasn't been done. I wish I could take a writing course, where everything will be clear and systematic to me, so in this way, the ideas will flow through me structured, and not blasting all over the place getting lost beneath all this capturing endless storage virtual world. Why do people enjoy reading about journeys of others so much??? I want a journey but when ever i think about the process i get tired, shouldn't it provide me with a feeling of freedom and escapade, reaching out there for something else. Arriving at the end of my Psych degree, things are leaving the theory box. The "theory box" has kept all of us contained in an academic bubble till today, and now we understand that this theory box was especially acquired and structured from this population next to us. This population is everyone, and so close that is hard to conceive how it left the box to fit this human being. Listen to someone, or let someone open to you and the theories turn to living proof stories of how fucked up we are, how sensitive, how dehumanized, how corrupt. I don't mean to be this negative, I believe it is more humorous, but I once read this saying that influenced me so much as opposed to everything else i have read. That us humans became Domesticated beings, and this way we are moving further and further away from our natural selves. Anyhow, solutions can be nice, and I assume that the small things do provide them. I shall continue reading and writing until I can, Painting some, and Digging everyone's brains with my sincere need to be genuine and real, where in the process maybe stepping on your face. Hello.  

not my painting, but someone from my high school did it, and he is a genius. Pure psycho genius.

https://www.google.co.il/search?sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8&q=tracey+emin(  Work by Tracey Emin).



Hooo, there should be an especially connecting thread for all my internet activity and my image watching to directly paste it to this blog. My Pinterest account has been taking so much from me, and have been surly doing the deed of providing me with inspiring materiel. I miss the days of writing, and I am assuming that this is the great thing about a blog, that surly people stumble upon it, at least mine, and don't really have too many expectations for my writing. So I shall do it for myself anyhow, and this is the importance of this all right?!!! I don't really care anymore what you think about me because I am what I am tilted to the left, twisting to the right, climbing up, crawling down. Anyhow, the day I reach the wishes of my super Ego, some will raise their eyebrows towards me in dismay, so what the heck right? This reminds me of this great quote I read: "Be one of those people whose Happiness is addictive", and somehow it sounds so nice. Imagine influencing every person you meet leaving a mark, a skewed stroke of something in the Mist. I want to be able to write a book so much, this is such a special way to get to them, those who want to feel their insides. Those who want to feel something inside tremble and shake to the words of the English Language, the language of beautifying Images, of Euphemisms. I find myself with the need for writing when I recieve too many slaps in my face, influx of twisted conclusions just waiting to be jotted down somewhere, either a note book, and yaka or kaka. Yet those silent slaps that just pass a warm thread down your chest and you can still remember the sensation when awakening. I am not sure where this inspiration is taking me, and that is the disease of wanting to do many things, then you get numb and stuck with laying comfortably while others do, and you wrap yourself up with a soft creativiy blanket of other's materpieces for example this intoxicating sweet song which brings me somewhere special. Such wisdom, even this four minutes have the strong influence of a great writer, X


WISDOM that leaves you breathless 


Sitting here in this ridiculous, empty living room, trying to contemplate which and how i should surf the web, picking at the television while its mute, connected to my headphones plugged into the past. Plugged into a sound that takes me to tunnels, to mazes puts me in a spin. My head is rumbling and spinning, and my nose feels like it is about to fall off. I think i used four hundred rolls of tissue today, and i feel all washed out. How can one produce such intense amounts of saliva in the nose, till it is coming out of your ears and eyes. I am tired, i want to be healthy already. My friend calls it "Positive Stress", which is a form of stress that weakens your immune system when one is excited and overwhelmed with the paste life is running at. I think truly what had happened is that i missed a couple hours of sleep, thus I was not able to regain them resulting in a fall out of a consistency of health I had kept till today. I am tired, and I don't know what to say, except the fact that inspiring people is the reason why it all moves, or feels like its moving somewhere and not standing on two legs waiting to fall down and deteriorate. So all you creators, please create, it feels so good. GODODODOODDOODDOd




condition me into something,
condition me into a ball, a swirl
a downward spiral of a funny felling,
colored with pink and yellow, 
wrapped in bubblegum and ease,

condition my inhibitions,
condition my sacred fears,
condition them to pure inspiration,
inspiration of timeless eternal sunrise
of freshly squeezed lemons
and the scent of an orange pill
as i swing like a little girl, from the swing

swinging to the sky,
catching the clouds
to pull them back down to sit by me,
to kiss the sky
and hug the ground,
condition me to something familiar
of eternal timeless, ageless positivity.