(no subject)
Last night I dreamed that Mahmoud Darwish came to my house. He was sitting right here, right next to this makeshift bed I have slept on for years now. Although I do not understand a lot of the eastern european conflict, I told him I was sorry for all the mess. Mostly, I was sorry he was dead -- he would now never be able to see the end of a struggle he gave away his life to. Then he taught me how to say his name in Hebrew, how to spell it in Farsi. I told him I loved the dialogue he had had with this french woman at a coffee shop -- I had seen it on youtube. He laughed. We didn't talk much after that. In the dream, I turned around to look at my watch and when I turned back He was gone. It was 9am.
./w
./w