All notes with the topic Meital Yaniv | Notes on Looking

“But all I can see is Red, red, red, red, red now What am I gonna do” : William Kaminski’s Haunted Heck

What is sleep you ask, what is dream I ask, what is real you reply. Being scared makes you freeze, makes your body shut, having fear means there’s an action to be taken, fear is a bravery you need to work through. I was reminded that there is also terror, terror makes fear breakable, terror shakes you to the core of your being and never leaves you be. We were the first in line for the second night of LIVE THRU THIS KURT COBAIN HAUNTED HECK. We decided to enter sober. Standing in front of the red corridor, you asked me to hold your hand. I said I would never let go. I reassured myself. It would be too obvious for a ghost to enter a haunted house; they have more fun inside our beds. I was wrong. We smiled at the tiara-wearing girl (Hole – Live Through This) in the entrance and walked in. I asked you if you want to be in front of me or behind me; you moved to my front, taking my arms above your shoulders and crossing them over your heart. Your upper back was on my chest, my chin was above your head; walking with spread legs, I realized I couldn’t protect you even if I wanted to. Passing through the first room where Kurt was sitting on a toilet making sick noises, we had to almost touch him in order to maneuver our now-one-body through the room, startled by our reflection in the bathroom mirror. We entered into Courtney’s closet – she came out of the rack and started shouting, you...

Spectrum for an Untouchable: Meital Yaniv

I’m pretty sure he was trying to beat the red light. I’m pretty sure she thought he was going to stop. He didn’t stop, and neither did she. He struck the front of her truck; his motorcycle went way beyond where he went, but he went far too. He landed close to my door, to my left. My friend asked if I had seen what had just happened. I looked at the man. I asked my friend what he meant. He said that truck just hit that guy on the motorcycle and his bike is way over there and he is right there lying on the ground. I looked at the man: black pants, black shirt and black helmet. I asked my friend if it was real. He started to breath heavy. I didn’t know if I should get out of the car. People started to gather, it felt like there was nothing I could do. I looked down at the man wondering if he was real, wondering if he was alive. Through my window, I heard the man ask another man if his arm was missing, the stranger responded, no it’s just broken. The blood slithered out from under his helmet onto the sidewalk. I didn’t hear any other words, and I didn’t see any more movement; but he still had his arm. My friend was freaking out. At that point, I was trying to be okay. When I had asked Meital Yaniv a little over a week ago what her writing was about, she said it was about Israel. When I told her I felt like I...