Amir Pri-gal about mirrors
Briefing by breathing that the past is not a product of cause and effect, there are no walls that can stop you from unleashing suffering, except the conception of suffering. Briefing yourself doesn’t mean you know everything; it can be the process of relying on authorized teachers or letting ancient inherited knowledge to arise.
May the insanity in the sanctuary of your beauty guide you in the realms of your happiness.
Photo: Yogendra Singh
I saw an old man, he told me about grandma, other than an obituary, there’s no one home. So, I began to wander, among people who are suffering,
“Is everything fine?” she asked,
“Do not tell mom,” as if we have the same mom
“Your secret, is my secret,” I missed this little monster
The smile I have not grazed
7 grams per second.
Photo: Ded Charoenlarp
A young woman, a Jerusalemite style, with a generous white rush on her shins, “how beautiful she is,” I was wondering while catching beats of hers. Her-sandals, her-dress, the dirt under her-nails. Mountains girls, we call them here. I met few men who genuinely one-love, as you can address to a fair maiden. Some have been sent away… I was taken to the burial cave of Abraham, at times before the wall, when we played in the vineyards of Hebron under the August sun 👒. Shy moose roam freely. A cat on her seventh soul found a place on this white land of rocks. We were listening. Can you listen to the tweets? She was there. I see her shining, even if she didn’t give a stranger-chance to love, as she is. Months after, on the bridge nearby, I found a woman who asked passersby to light a candle for a man’s sake. For her friend’s father. 3 disturbed women asking for prayer in the place where passersby examining each other decent shoes. How wonderful is that.
Photo by Katie Aun
body’s stings, being revealed on her thighs, fox’s howl, and myself up the stairs to the spice of hesitation.
Dec-24-2011 | Photo by Yanukit Raiva
A ponytail, is that she? The way she runs just beyond a beaten track, on a concrete one. The scent poured into my soul while I try to sanction the witch, a measured curse, is it the winds who needs to be blamed, Gods’ will, the shape of it? O… the smell… No, a fool’s choice.
Oct-11-2017 | 13:58 | Photo by Trung Thanh
As far as I can see, MEMORY 📜 is a one-time reunion of two forces : The winds (pressures) and the ocean (water flow). At a particular moment, an eruption occurred in the form of a wave.
The occurring force is so strong, it holds on time. Sometimes for years, for generations, some might say. It is hard; it is harsh; it is a force.
It is a memory of, and not limited to, a pain. On top of it, a fort is standing firmly, with one gatekeeper who makes sure for the occurrence stability, the wave itself.
“You will stop seeing me”, I was briefing my direct supervisor. She pulled out a square, brown, Walmart like, paper bag and called herself Aviva (A hebrew girls given name which means spring). Hid herself within it. After her friends made holes for her eyes to be seen, I told her “Stop it. Because when I get home I will cry”. When will she tell herself how she feels?
Sep 13, 2017, 22:34
War tourism is an unweighted concept, but not unheard. One aspect and one story of it would be told now.
A person, couples, friends, who travel to vital war zones for personal gain. Through the smoke fence, something happens. The travelers just found a parking space, and with their typical walking shoes, they have climbed the green hill.
Binoculars are not required. Just hear the helicopter blades pounding, the Iron Dome leaping into action. Sense what is already here: the winter breeze read sermons. A touching creation of automatization and sacrification;
Some would not return, as those who walked through the 1939 Todesmärsche, we are all familiar with.
And this is logical to those who need to be obliged to the unforgiving one-society laws and strict corporate culture, they are being heard. Local bakeries cannot produce bread. The recipe of freedom went bankrupt. Sacrification, bankruptcy, survival.
