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A 69-year-old Dutch “positivity guru” who says he does not feel his age has started a battle to make himself legally 20 years younger on the grounds that he is being discriminated against on a dating app. Emile Ratelband told a court in Arnhem in the Netherlands that he did not feel “comfortable” with his […]

via QotD: ” Dutch man, 69, starts legal fight to identify as 20 years younger” — Anti-Porn Feminists


Remember how I was once involved in a lawsuit with one of these celebrities who legally demand the right to identify as someone younger than they really are? Can all the 16 year olds please identify as 18 year olds and participate in elections? Where will this insanity end?

When I went to court back in 2012 I thought it was obvious that someone lying about their age and identity on the internet deserved to be exposed and ridiculed for doing so.Not so, said the Amsterdam court. Lying about your age on the internet is “privacy” – yes, the plaintiff’s lawyer actually literally said that in the motion, and judge Marianne van Walraven in Amsterdam went along with the argument that lying about your age and identity on the internet is protected “privacy”. On the other hand, me exposing someone’s real age and identity and calling them a liar and a fraud for lying about their age and ID constitutes defamation, harassment and even stalking. Even when that person is a celebrity and a public figure by their own admission.

I was so utterly shocked by this verdict at the time, I still have complex PTSD and recurring suicidal tendencies because of it. I could not believe that someone could use the courts to force their denial of reality upon me under the guise of “privacy”.

Fast-forward 6 years later and now we have this bullshit. An actual trans-age lawsuit, in the courty that tried to throw me in jail and destroyed my mental health and my life for assuming it was normal to call someone a liar and a fraud for lying about their age online.

A Dutch celebrity is suing his local government to allow him to change his age so that he can identify as much younger than he really is. You can’t make this up. This lawsuit is triggering me so hard, for the sake of my mental health I should not be reading about it or watching Youtube videos, but I am having flashbacks. I fear that the court is going to issue a verdict in his favour. Because he is a rich man who can afford top dollar lawyers, and Dutch courts are so corrupt, they give rich people like him any verdict they ask for.

I wouldn’t be at all surprised if his lawyers are citing my 2012 case in this court case to justify this screaming nonsense. It makes me feel guilty because I feel like I personally paved he way for this crap by losing the lawsuit back in 2012. I should not be feeling guilty of course, it was a stacked deck against me (the plaintiffs had seven 250 euro an hour corporate lawyers working against me and my disinterested public pretender), but still, I can’t help but feel like I paved the way for this narcissistic crap lending it legal legitimacy. For me it all goes back to judge Marianne van Walraven going along with the bullshit argument that lying about your age and identity online is “privacy” and that a member of the general public has no right to post someone’s real name or real age while accusing them of lying, even if that person is a celebrity, even if that person is involved in politics, lest they be accused of stalking and defamation. Who is to stop the judges in Arnhem from issuing the same verdict with the same reasoning now? CITING MY CASE FROM 2012 TO DO IT? Who is to stop them from saying that lying about your age is a form of “privacy” that others need to respect? The precedent was set in my case.

Suffice to say, trans-age is BULLSHIT, this lawsuit is ABUSE OF COURT and I will never change my mind on this topic. Sue me, throw me in jail, I don’t give a fuck anymore. I don’t give a care about judge Marianne van Walraven insisting that a celebrity lying about their age and identity being a form of “privacy” that I supposedly have a legal obligation to “respect” and not denounce in the strongest terms. I don’t respect it. I will never respect it. I will denounce it. Lying about your age is ageism, it is a capitulation to age discrimination that is driven by good old patriarchal sexism and misogyny (because men consider women only useful to them if they are of child-bearing age, or pretend like they are). TRANS-AGE IS BULLSHIT and the more people call it out for the screaming nonsense it is the better.

Tim Pool: “And that’s why it’s important for us to not just be like, ‘You can’t say mean things about people’, because some people are wrong, some people are unwell and should be criticized.”



When you are not the only narcissistic identitarian – fetishizing and financially exploiting your association to Indigenous people like Jordan Peterson:

When I approached Penguin Random House Canada for an interview with the author to discuss why online descriptions of his current bestseller, 12 Rules for Life, carried a biographical note that stated he had been “inducted into the coastal Pacific Kwakwaka’wakw tribe,” they declined. But, as his publisher, Penguin Random House Canada accepted responsibility for “a couple of errors” in the bio and confirmed that it has been changed in the published edition. The final version says that he was “invited into and named by that Canadian First Nation.”

Peterson, however, has yet to own up to the error. As he reminds readers in 12 Rules for Life: “If we speak carelessly and imprecisely, however, things remain vague….The fog of uncertainty does not lift, and there is no negotiating through the world.”
I spoke with Joseph this January, and asked him about Peterson’s ties to the tribe. “He’s part of my family, he’s part of the Joseph box, not the nation, the Joseph box.” Joseph replied.

He explains that “box” can, in this context, be used as a metaphor for extended family. Joseph made clear that, as thanks for what Peterson did for his family, he was blanketed and given a name—Alestalagie (“great seeker”). These are common ceremonies among the West Coast First Nations. Among my people, the Stó:lo, blanketing is done at the end of festivals and ceremonies to honoured guests. It doesn’t make them part of a family or part of the nation, but is a big step up from simply saying “thank you.” Giving somebody a name is even more significant.

Joseph continues: “[Peterson’s] name talks about what kind of job he’s doing, who he is. It’s nothing like the chief’s name or my name or my Hamatsa name, we understand all that, how to find names for our people that we’re adopting—and then, in our culture, strength comes from when you’re making your box bigger, you’re making your family bigger. It means he’s part of my box, he has a name in there, and we honour him for his name, and he is blanketed to respect what he did for the family.”

The naming ceremony can be an expensive one, requiring much preparation, and in Peterson’s case, it was done in the presence of chiefs who signed off on the honour. While the name chosen for him wasn’t the same type that would be given to a member of the Kwakwaka’wakw people, Peterson still, in a way, became part of Charles Joseph’s family—but emphatically not a member of the tribe.

It is surprising that these ties haven’t been investigated in print before, because the type of honour given to Peterson is profound. Since the interview, Joseph has asked me to remove mention of what Peterson did for the family—a request that I have to respect. I can say that it is what in other cultures you would call a mitzvah—one significant enough for the Joseph family to honour the man he now calls his brother.

No person can stand between Peterson’s relationship with Charles Joseph and his family. However, that relationship ends at the walls of the “Joseph box”—it does not extend to the Kwakwaka’wakw people, and it does not include assuming an Indigenous identity.

Peterson’s Twitter outburst against what he called Mishra’s “lies and halftruths” has ignited a heated debate within the Kwakwaka’wakw people. The debate isn’t about whether or not Peterson is truly a member of the tribe. I spoke to community members, and each confirmed that the naming ceremony that Peterson took part in does not grant him membership. Instead, there is concern about the harm caused by the way he has boasted of and exaggerated his Kwakwaka’wakw connections. Juli Holloway, a Kwakwaka’wakw community member whose family is in the process of arranging for a similar adoption ceremony for a non-Native friend, describes how she sees the problem: “It’s the lack of humility that bothers me the most, I guess. It should not be a badge of honour. It’s for within the community, not for without.”

What I am seeing now is a darker, angrier Jordan than the man I knew. In Karen Heller’s recent profile in the Washington Post he is candid about his long history of depression. Depression is an awful illness. It is a cognitive disorder that casts a dark shadow over everything. His view of life, as nasty and brutish, may very well not be an idea, but a description of his experience, which became for him the truth. But this next statement, from Heller’s article, is heartbreaking: “You have an evil heart — like the person next to you,” she quotes him as telling a sold-out crowd. “Kids are not innately good — and neither are you.” This from the loving and attentive father I knew? That makes no sense at all.

We have white people pretending to be Native, we have white people pretending to be blacks, when is this insanity going to end?


The Boy With The Camera
by L.
The following story is a work of fiction and bears no relation to existing people or events.

Some people say it’s my own fault. That I’m a mature adult woman who should have resisted the folly of my fading youth. That I got exactly what I deserved. After all, there I was all this time, fucking my own documentary subject, a fact I never disclosed as a documentary maker to my viewing public, or to the Academy that awarded me. Fucking your documentary subject is a journalistic conflict of interest, I did not disclose the conflict of interest, so really, what was I expecting? I was told that I should have resisted the urge. That I should have shown the same strength of character I have shown to the TSA whenever I was stopped and frisked at an airport. Tell that to the hundreds of other women sharing my predicament.

I met Kaje at a Nan Goldin exhibition in New York. Nan Goldin is my photographic hero, and I was much surprised to learn that Kaje was a big fan of her work as well. As we strolled together through the gallery, Kaje pointed out a picture by Nan of 4 gay men in car, one of them with a raging erection silhouetted against the lights shining outside the dark interior of the car. “Wouldn’t you like to be in the car with them?” he said, looked at me, jerked his thick Semitic eyebrows up and down, and stretched out his arms. I could see his nipple-piercings offsetting against the fabric of his Rotten shirt. I blushed. Yes, me, I blushed at such a question. I have been in war zones where my life was in danger, but nothing caught me off guard than Kaje suggesting I’d have sex with men again, 4 gay men in a dark car no less. I hadn’t had any sex with anyone since 9/11 (which was a lie, I had sex a week earlier). The mere thought of having sex with this young boy, who spoke about the most forbidden sex so casually and matter-of-factly aroused me.

Later he took me out for a drink. As we were discussing photography, he suddenly leaned across and kissed me on the mouth. He kissed me so hard that my lip bled, and I tasted the blood. “You are such a beautiful, strong woman L., you drive me crazy.”, he said. “I haven’t had any sex with a man for years…” I stammered and tears filled my eyes (I was lying, I had sex with someone a few days earlier). I, a middle aged woman solemnly dressed in black, I was trembling like a leaf with desire before this young man, barely 30, who had just kissed me on the mouth, tasting my blood. “I don’t want to hear that.”, he said, then leaned over to whisper in my ear, “I only want to hear the sound of your hymen breaking a second time. I want to tear you up so bad, I’d do you on the floor of this fucking bar if only I could. When you are with me, I want you to forget all the fear, shame and guilt.”. I think I melted into a puddle by then, I am not sure because things got hazy thereafter. I remember my drink smelling kinda funny, I think I remember the scent of bitter almond. The next day I lying next to him in bed asked him about his peacock tattoo, and he told me that there is a woman named Katie with the same tattoo was him. I was envious of Katie, I was envious of him, I wanted to be part of it all, I wanted to be a part of his life, the crazy sex, the drugs, the tattoos, I wanted it all.

I knew there were others, but he never shared anything with me about any his other women at my stern request. At the same time he encouraged me to think of our Anonymous source from the NSA, who we later discovered was a young man named Ed, as a fugitive lover and to treat him as lovingly as I would treat a real lover running from the law. I now realize it was merely a training for how he wanted me to look at him, how he wanted me to treat him. I was being dog-trained by him to provide E. with the safety he needed so that when the time came for authorities to crack down on Kaje, I would provide the same safety blanket for him.

When the time came to accept my award for my new documentary, Kaje and I were serious players in the Berlin S&M scene. I told him I wanted to wear a dress that would reflect my newly found sexual confidence. Jaws were all over the floor when I showed up at the AAs with the dress Kaje had suggested. Only he knew I was wearing a chastity belt underneath with a double dildo. “I want you to feel me there, eventhough I cannot be there. I cannot travel to the US, I will be arrested or indicted at the border if I do. I want you to feel me with you with every step you take. I want you to feel how double-fucked it is to be on American soil without me.”, he had told me as he installed the chastity belt in Berlin. I am pretty sure that bit of underwear couture was an Academy first.

I still remember that time he showed up in Lisbon in Portugal, agitated and nervous, pumped up with drugs. We had some sex in our hotelroom but he still wouldn’t calm down. He told me that the CIA had infiltrated his employer. That one of his co-workers, a skinny twiggy from Portland, was accusing him or having raped her in her sleep and had gathered a mob of feminist hackers in a bunch against him. That he was working with an investigative journalist to make sure no one would believe skinny twiggy and her angry feminist hacker bunch. I was used to his bouts of paranoia by then, but this time it was different. During our presentation in Lisbon he literally teared up before the audience as he described our President, the Father of our Nation, assassinating an American child in Jemen. I had never seen Kaje tear up publically at one of our common presentations before. He had kissed away the tears from my eyes many times while we had sex or when we were playing, but this was a public lecture and I couldn’t do anything to reciprocate. I just sat there in my seat, smiling uncomfortably as my young lover teared up describing drones killing children. I remember thinking: “This must be what it’s like to be in the closet as a gay man. No being able to lean across in the midst of a public presentation to comfort your lover as he’s crying before you and the audience.”. Later that night we both had sex with our common idol, who was in the audience. The next morning she insisted that we stick around so she could show us a documentary “about the AIDS conspiracy”, but we excused ourselves.

When the sex scandal broke, we were on Slait, (because no one can beat the Israelis when it comes to this kind of software) and ROTTN all day long, as he suffered nervous breakdown after nervous breakdown. I was begging him to have himself committed, to seek help, he described how he was doing copious amounts drugs, uppers, downers, if it pops, it drops. I threatened to pull my new documentary from circulation if he didn’t seek treatment. He asked whether I was “one of them”. I couldn’t believe it. I stared at my OTR session in disbelief. After all we had been through together, he was asking me whether I was “one of them”. I realized then that to him, I had been “one of them” all along.

Then one of his transsexual wouldbe lovers dropped the bombshell. It was a simple text file on a file sharing website. I doubt whether many people read it. I believe it has since disappeared from the internet. But there it was, our secret spilled for the world to see, the secret we had made sure to keep to ourselves for so long, guarding it like a treasure: “Kaje went to L.’s publicist because Kaje and L. have been in a sexual relationship for years.”. I immediately pulled my documentary, which featured a scene of Kaje in the bathtub and was widely praised primarily because of his contribution, from circulation. To this day there are still people on Twitter asking where the documentary is, and why Kaje hasn’t leaked it to EtaripYab (more Israelis here, there, everywhere) yet.

I think fondly of the day we recorded the bathtub scene. It was all staged of course, but I was giving instructions to Kaje to make it look as natural as possible. It had always been my secret dream to direct fiction instead of documenting reality, a reality that seems more stark and bleak by the day. I told Kaje to relax and to think of the camera as a lover or a friend. Kaje of course tried to pull me into the tub, but he had better luck pulling that one on little A. after New Year’s Eve. Off-camera he described how giving someone a bath is the best way to check if they are a secret agent carrying bugs on them, especially bugs implanted within their hair. He said, “Anyone who isn’t an agent should be willing to get naked in the shower with you, and let you feel their hair to find the bugs they might have planted there. Most of all they should let you feel up their pubic hair, don’t forget to soap up and feel up their pubic hair, we’re living in Europe now where people tend to shave less and these bugs can be planted in the pubic bush as well. Remember that for when I’m no longer around, L. Always take people with you into the shower, pull them into the tub and soap them up really good, run your hands through their hair and give them an aggressive massage to find the hidden cameras they might be hiding in their shoulder pads. And if I disappear after we release this documentary, remember, it was murder.”



But now I know she
Never was and never will be
You don’t know how you’ve betrayed me
And somehow you’ve got everybody fooled

Όταν ήμουνα δωδεκάχρονο και πηγαινα στην Παιδική Θεατρική Σχολή του Άμστερνταμ – όχι γιατί ήθελα αλλά γιατί με εκβριασε η μάνα μου να πάω – με έβαλαν μια φορά να παίξω τον Πρίγκιπα Δημήτριο στο Όνειρο Μεσοκαλοκαιρινής Νύχτας του Ουίλιαμ Σαίξπηρ. Μισούσα αυτόν τον ρόλο γιατί ήταν η τρίτη χρονιά που ΚΑΙ ΠΆΛΙ ΡΕ ΓΑΜΏΤΟ με έβαζαν να παίξω ανδρικό ρόλο και εγώ ήθελα επιτέλους να παίξω έναν γυναικείο ρόλο. Ήταν τότε που άρχισα να καταλαβαίνω πως οι Ολλανδοί είναι ανοικανοί να δούνε την θηλυκότητα μιας Ελληνίδας. Τότε ήταν που άρχισα να μισώ την θηλυκότητα, γιατί κατάλαβα πως οι ρατσιστές Ολλανδοί δεν θα με έβλεπαν ποτέ σαν γυναίκα. Η φίλη μου η Άντζελα έπαιζε την Τιτάνια, την βασίλισσα των Ξωτικών, αλλά αρρώστησε λίγο πριν την πρεμιέρα και μιας και κάναμε πρόβα μαζί και ήδη γνώριζα τα λόγια της, με έβαλαν εμένα αναγκάστηκα να παίξω την Τιτάνια στην τελευταία μας πρόβα. Οι δάσκαλοι μου ήταν φανερά ξαφνιασμένοι που με έβλεπαν να ερμηνεύομαι γυναικιο ρόλο, κάτι που με θεωρούσαν ανίκανη να κατορθώσω, έτσι που με είχαν φακελώσει μόνο για αγοροκόριτσο. Στο τέλος η Άντζελα αναρρώθηκε και δεν χριαστηκε να την αντικαταστήσω στην πρεμιέρα . Αλλά δεν με ενόιζαζε γιατί είχα αποδιξει στους βλάκες σεξιστές δασκάλους μου πως ήμουν ικανή να ερμηνευτώ και εγώ την θηλυκότητα. Μετά από αυτό το συμβάν παράτησα το θέατρο ολοτελώς και δεν ξανανέβηκα στην σκηνή. Fuck the theatre school, fuck my sexist racist Dutch theatre teachers and fuck A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Α, δεν σας είναι γνωστή αυτή η ιστορία με τον Αλέξανδρο; Είχα τσατιστεί τότε με τις μαλακίες του (“BDSM is best without the safeword”, “Ο Woody Allen γαμάει, ρώτα την κόρη του”) και για να ξεσπάσω έγραψα μια σειρά από ιστοριούλες τρόμου, όπου
εγώ ειμουν ο κυρίως χαρακτήρας και ο Άλεξ ήταν ο αντίπαλος. Υπήρξε και ένα τερατάκι, το Γρύλισμα, που ήταν βασισμένο σε ένα κείμενο που είχε γράψει τότε ο Άλεξ για την σεξομανία του. Μου άρεσαν πολύ αυτές οι ιστοριούλες γιατί ήταν εντελώς αλλόκοτες και γραμένες με έναν stream of consciousness/ecriture automatique τρόπο μου φαντάζομαι πως είναι παρόμοιος με τον τρόπο που γράφει ο Άλεξ τους στοίχους του. Δεν είχα ξαναγράψει κάτι με αυτόν τον τρόπο και ήταν πολύ διασκεδαστικό και απελευθερωτικό, όλο γελούσα με τις ανοησίες που ξερνούσα από το υποσυνείδητο μου. Η ιστορίες ήταν γραμμένες στα Ελληνικά και Αγγλικά ανακατωτά, και βασικά σατίριζα αυτά που λέει και τραγουδάει ο ίδιος.

Αυτές τις ιστορίες της βρήκε και της διάβασε όμως η Ιωάννα, η τρελόκομουνίστρια μάνα του Άλεξ, και πείρε τηλέφωνο το φεστιβάλ της Δράμας, όπου θα έκανα τότε εθελοντική δουλειά, και έκλαιγε στο τηλέφωνο ισχυρίζοντας πως δήθεν απηλούσα τον Άλεξ και θα πηγενα στην Αθήνα να τον σφάξω και αλλά παράλογα παρανοϊκά. Στο τέλος με έδιωξαν από το φεστιβάλ πριν μπορέσω να δουλέψω και ξαναγύρισα στο Άμστερνταμ για να κάνω εκεί εθελοντική δουλειά. Μου έκανε πολύ μεγάλη εντύπωση το πόσο παρανοϊκή είναι η μαμά του Άλεξ, βλέπει φαντάσματα και ανυπαρκτες απειλές παντού. Πρέπει να έχει φοβερό complex PTSD. Το ξέρω πως λέει στις ομιλίες της πως ήταν χαπακωμένη για χρόνια, αλλά δεν νομίζω πως ξεπέρασε το PTSD της με αυτήν την φαρμακευτική αγωγή. Αλλιώς δεν θα μου φερνόταν έτσι προσπαθώντας να μου κάνει σαμποτάζ μόνο και μόνο γιατί έγραψα σάτιρα.

Την πρώτη ιστορία που είχα γράψει την διάβασε ο φίλος του Άλεξ, ο Φελιζόλ, και όταν πήγε να οργανώσει ένα event στην Στέγη το έκανε pyjama party γιατί αυτός ήταν ο τίτλος της ιστορίας μου, Pedo pyjama party @ E. Benaki boulevard.

You look at your Smartphone and see the following message: “Invite/RSVP-only Pedo πυτζάμα πάρτι @ Alex’s crib on E. Benaki Blvd follow the line stretching around the block lulz XD PS. A.C.A.B.!!!”. You feel so good, you feel like 90 000 bucks tonight. Everybody hollatcha BoyBoy, are we having fun or what people?

Από την ιστορία μου την είχε κλέψει την ιδέα για to pyjama party στην Στέγη αλλά δεν νομίζω πως θα το παραδεχτεί ποτέ δημοσίως, όπως και ο Νικολαΐδης δεν παραδέχτηκε ποτέ πως το Morning Patrol ήταν για ένα μέρος κλεμμένο από την Γώγου. Αυτός είναι ο σεξισμός του Ελληνικού σινεμά και γενικότερα του Ελληνικού καλλιτεχνικού χώρου..

14 ΜΑΪ 2016

Σε διάφορους χώρους της Στέγης
Ένα ολονύχτιο pyjama party με ήχους και ανθρώπους του σήμερα που ξεκινά τα μεσάνυχτα του Σαββάτου.


Θέλετε να κοιμηθείτε ένα βράδυ στην Κεντρική Σκηνή της Στέγης;

Να χορέψετε σε ολονύχτιο pyjama party;

Η Στέγη του Ιδρύματος Ωνάση θέλοντας να επικεντρωθεί στο λιγότερο εξερευνημένο τμήμα της ζωής και του φαντασιακού μας, στο τμήμα που πιστεύουμε πως οι δραστηριότητές μας αναστέλλονται και αποσυρόμαστε για να ανασυνταχτούμε σωματικά και ψυχικά, που πιστεύουμε πως παύει η κοινωνική δραστηριότητα και τα βάρη της, δημιούργησε ένα πρόγραμμα καλλιτεχνικών δράσεων. Συγκεκριμένα, πρόκειται για ένα σπονδυλωτό πρόγραμμα εκδηλώσεων της Στέγης του Ιδρύματος Ωνάση το οποίο αποτελείται από μια έκθεση έργων μοντέρνας και σύγχρονης τέχνης, από performances και sleepovers, ένα κύκλο ηχητικών έργων και ζωντανών περιπατητικών δράσεων και από μια σειρά διαλέξεων και δημόσιων συζητήσεων. Επίσης, συνοδεύεται από μια ειδική περιοδική έκδοση.

Νομίζω πως διάφορα στοιχεία από τις ιστορίες που είχα γράψει τότε κατέληξαν ακόμα και στο Νήμα από ότι έχω διαβάσει στις κριτικές, αλλά δεν το έχω δει ποτέ οπότε δεν είμαι σίγουρη. Υπάρχει και ένα τραγούδι στον τελευταίο δίσκο του Άλεξ, Έτοιμοι, που νομίζω πως είναι η απάντηση του Άλεξ προς εμένα. Είναι το τραγούδι Μπράϊαν Λήθη. Διάφοροι στίχοι αυτού του τραγουδιού είναι ξεκάθαρα αναφορές σε δικούς μου στοίχους και αποσπάσματα από τις ιστορίες μου.

Πίσω απο το μαστίγωμα της σάρκας στο πέτρινο δωμάτιο του Καρκίνου.
Εκεί που όλοι φοράνε κουκούλες.
Τα παιδιά του Καρκίνου.
Μπαίνει στο μυαλό μας.
Όχι πια δικό μας.
Τι θα πει δικό μας.
Σκέψου λίγο τι θα πει δικό μας.

At the opposite platform, platform 19 wagon compartment 87, she spots a man staring absently into the distance. His black luggage behind him left unattended. She rushes down the stairs, through the hall, up the stairs and appears on the platform behind the man. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Perfect dumbass.”, and the blogger smiles to herself, grabbing his luggage just when he turns his head. She stares back at him and doesn’t make a move, holding the luggage handle tightly. “Κλέφτρα!”, the man exclaims, “HOW DARE YOU ROB MY CHARACTERS? THIS IS MY STORY! THESE ARE MY CHARACTERS! THIS IS MY TRAIN STATION, MY PLATFORM, MY LUGGAGE!”. Her empty stomach roars loudly. All she can think of is a bag of salty chips and a pizza slice.

Θα πει η γεύση του αίματος να μη σε θολώνει.
Θα πει η Νέα Σάρκα να μη σε σκοτώνει.

Απομονώθηκε πίσω απο την λαμπερή λίμνη με τα καλώδια συντροφιά.
Έγινε Αλληγορική Μνήμη που δεν την θυμάται όμως κανείς.
Και ας είναι επισήμως ο τελευταίος όλων μας .
Ο Συγγενής που τα δώρα του τυλίγονται γύρω απο τους λαιμούς των παιδιών μας.

Tο Γρύλισμα slept restlessly τυλιγμένο γύρω απ’τον λαιμό σου like a huge python smothering you. It was actually hugging itself the way you used to hug yourself whenever you felt alone, back in the days when you were alone and lonely. You knew that desolate feeling from your own experience, so you allowed it to coil tighter and tighter around itself, until one night it wrapped itself too tight and broke your neck. You had to walk around with a neckbrace for some while, and joked about your predicament: “I finally look like the characters in Cronenberg’s Crash!”. Tο Γρύλισμα was too depressed to laugh at you silly jokes.

Των απόγονών μας.
Αυτό το τέλος δεν θα ναι το δικό μας.
Θεού θέλοντος θα ξαμολυθούν οι Μοίρες στον δρόμο.
Μαύρες μοτοσυκλέτες με τραγανές ρουκέτες.
Κάποιος να πει στον κλειδοκράτορα οτι ήρθε η ώρα.
Ο Συγγενής φέρνει τα πιο απαραίτητα δώρα.
Στόματα που προσκυνάνε το μπούκωμα και ο Αλέξης Ευθύνης.
Ενας πιστός υπηρέτης της Αλληγορικής Μνήμης.
Μπαίνει φθινόπωρο.
Η εποχή που χαλαρώνουνε τα ήθη.
Και η υφή του δολώματος αλλάζει στο στόμα μας.
Τώρα η βοήθεια του πια δεν μας πείθει.
Ήρθε η ώρα να καλέσουμε τον Μπράιαν Λήθη.

Ποιός είναι ο Μπράιαν Λήθη;
Να τος.
Λεν για τον Μπράιαν Λήθη.
Θα πολεμήσει το φίδι.
Μόνο ο Μπράιαν Λήθη.
Ο Μπράιαν Λήθη.

Έγινε ερημίτης μέσα σε χρεωκοπημένα μουνιά που δεν είχαν να πληρώσουν το ρεύμα .
Δεν είχαν να πιουν νερό.
Και είχαν εναν ολόκληρο λαβύρινθο να συντηρούν και ένα αιωνίως αγέννητο μωρό.

“Τι σε φοβίζει πραγματικά;”, you ask her.

“H εγκυμοσύνη.”, she says. “Φοβάμαι το σπέρμα. Πάντα φοβόμουνα την ζωή την ίδια. Life was supposed to be fun. Birth is not an option. Giving birth to a blind and hairy little child… This is not how i was supposed to be.”

Ο Συγγενής φτιάχνει αδελφότητα και ετοιμάζει πορεία μέσα στα σκονισμένα του μουνιού τοιχώματα που προκαλούν αμνησία.
Κρύβει στην τσέπη του ενα κλειδί και τον Αλέξη Ευθύνη.
Εναν πιστό υπηρέτη της Αλληγορικής Μνήμης.

Αυτό αναφέρεται στην ιστορία μου Skeleton Key Hidden Place που η blogger μπαίνει στο λαβυρίνθιο κάστρο του professional S&Μ Pornographer.

Θεού θέλοντος θα ξαμολυθούν οι αιχμές στον βυθό του.
Ο Σύγγενης οτι θέλει το κάνει δικό του.
Αγόρια που επιτελούν το απόσπασμα για την Τζοάννα Θυσία.
Προσφέρει κάθε μέρα την παρθενιά της για μια πιο δίκαιη κοινωνία.

Mia Shlevin the Jewish developer from Manhattan was lying on the Jewish shrink’s Freudian couch, trying to relax her way through the session, but every 5 seconds something was twisting or turning, visibly or invisibly. And yet she felt relaxed enough to give the shrink a piece of her mind. The topic of the day was the usual, the same as every week before. Joanna was on her mind again.

“This Greek woman I was telling you about, Joanna, she-blows-my-mind, her thinking and the way she carries all this culture behind her. Just having her on the phone every day working on this project makes my day. Every script needs development, but her scripts, my goodness, she has done all the work for me herself and I still get paid just for yapping with her on the phone. We talk about Greece, and Israel, and New York, and Jews, and Martin, and her visiting New York with her son, and I get the feeling knows more about New York than I do. It’s incredible. I have never met a woman like her in 20 years working in development.”.

The Jewish developer does not distinguish the name “Ioanna” from “Joanna” and pronounces both the same way.

Μπαίνει χειμώνας.
Και η λύση του δράματος ποτέ δεν τους πείθει.
Η υφή του ατυχήματος ανακατασκευάζει τα δόντια μας.
Το ξαναλέω.
Η λύση του δράματος δεν με πείθει.
Ήρθε η ώρα να πιστέψω στον Μπράιαν Λήθη.

Ψιλοτσατίστηκα όταν άκουσα αυτό το τραγούδι, όχι για με έκανε ο Άλεξ counterdiss, αλλά γιατί το τραγούδι είχε παλιά άλλους στοίχους που ήταν απηρα καλύτεροι. “Γεννήθηκαν σε παραθαλασσιες πολεις/ Από τα δεκαπέντε μόλις/ Έγραφαν και δημοσίευαν.”. Μου αρέσουν οι παλιοι στιχοι περισσότερο από τους καινούριους. Είχα ακούσει την υχογράφηση που είχαν κάνει τα παιδιά όταν απαιξε ο Άλεξ στο ΤΕΙ της Δράμας που ήταν τότε κατάληψη. Είχε παίξει τότε το τραγούδι με τους παλιούς στοίχους και ακουγόταν στην ηχογράφηση έτσι μανιασμένος, έτσι κλασσικός Άλεξ. Μου άρεσε πιο πολύ και ελπίζω κάποτε να ξαναμαγνητοφωνήσει το τραγούδι και με τους παλιούς στοίχους.

Πρέπει να πω πως δεν είμαι πια και τόσο τσατισμένη με τον Άλεξ γιατί στο τέλος κέρδισε η δικιά μου πλευρά, η πλευρά εναντίον του κινηματογραφικού σεξισμού. Έχουμε το #Metoo και το #TimesUp και ο Harvey Weinstein θα πάει επιτέλους φυλακή. Ακολουθώ την RoseMcGowan και την Asia Argento στο Twitter και χαίρομαι πολύ για αυτήν την εξέλιξη, μακάρι να γινόταν κάτι παρόμοιο και στην Ελλάδα. Ακόμα και το κλασικά σεξιστικό και μισογυνο Flix αναγκάστηκε να ανεβάσει μια σειρά από αφιερώματα στις Ελληνίδες σκηνοθέτριες και filmworkers γενικά. Οπότε εγώ κέρδισα στο τέλος. Fuck you Alex. Τώρα βέβαια έχω την Ναταλίτσα να μου κλέβει ότι έχω και δεν έχω, η άτιμη (“she is probably out there thinking it’s funny/telling everyone”), οπότε άντε πάλι από την αρχή με τα κλεφτρόνια. Μάλιστα, όταν η Ναταλίτσα ανακάλυψε αυτό το ο blog και διάβασε το κείμενο που είχα ανεβάσει τότε όπου παράπονιόμουνα (όταν κατάλαβα πόσο μα πόσο πρεζόνι μπεκρουλιάρα είναι, αν και μου άρεσε τρομερά η κινηματογραφική όψη της και ήθελα να μάθω τα πάντα για αυτήν και την τέχνη της, στεναχωρήθηκα πολύ) πως μου έτυχε άλλος ένας Άλεξ (και αυτό το είπα σχετικά με τις μαλακίες που έλεγε τότε για την παιδεραστεία και την Λολίτα του Nabokov, ακριβώς τις ίδιες μαλακίες που έλεγε ο Άλεξ για τον Polanski και τον Allen), αυτή πήγε και έφτιαξε ένα ολοκλήρο βίντεο όπου ήταν ντυμένη ο Άλεξ από το A Clockwork Orange του Kubrick αλλά τραβεστί γιατί τότε είχε αρχίσει να είναι τρανς γυναίκα, λες και μου έλεγε, “why, of course I am just another Alex!“. Μιλάμε για ξεκάθαρα στοχευμένο ψυχολογικό πόλεμο.

Όλα αυτά τα άτομα που έρχονται εδώ και με κλέβουνε είναι όλοι τους τραγικές καταστάσεις οπότε δεν τους κρατάω και τόση κακιά. Εάν ήταν καλά με τον εαυτό τους, εάν είχανε αυτοπεποίθηση και πίστευαν σε αυτό που κάνουν δεν θα είχαν την ανάγκη να κλέψουν από εμένα, και ξέρω πως και ο Άλεξ και η Ναταλίτσα έχουν Γρυλίσματα και υποφέρουν, αν και είναι σε αντίθεση με εμένα γνωστοί καλλιτέχνες. Και εγώ είχα καταντήσει κάποτε κλεπτομανής από την αγανάκτησία μου, κάθε μέρα έκλεβα. Έκλεβα γιατί ένιωθα μόνη και απελπισμένη. Το κλέψιμο μου έδινε την ψευδαίσθηση της δύναμης που δεν είχα και ποτέ δεν θα έχω.

Εσύ, εσύ που διαβάζεις αυτό το κείμενο τώρα, εσύ με κλέβεις γιατί με μισείς και δεν μου μιλάς. Αν σε μισούσα και εγώ όπως με μισείς και δεν μιλούσα πια για εσένα, θα σταματούσες να με εκλέβες; Δεν θέλω να σε μισώ όπως με μισείς εσύ αλλά θέλω να σταματήσεις να με κλέβεις. Είμαι ένα τίποτα και δεν έχω τίποτα, οπότε γιατί κλέβεις εμένα; Γιατί δεν πας να κλέψεις από τους φίλους σου που είναι γνωστοί εμπνευσμένοι καλλιτέχνες σαν εσένα; Γιατί σου φαίνεται αστείο να κλέβεις από κάποιον που δεν έχει τίποτα και δεν έχει την δυνατότητα να σε κάνει να σταματήσεις; Δεν είναι αστείο. Είναι αδικία.


Σε τι σου έφταιξα και μου το κανείς αυτό; Επειδή ενδιαφέρθηκα για εσένα; Για αυτό με τυραννάς έτσι; Είδα πως η φίλη σου έκανε πάλι μια απόπειρα αυτοκτονίας πριν λίγες μέρες. Γιατί δεν ασχολείσαι μαζί της αντί με εμένα;





This is Marianna. Marianna is TranSage. Marianna was born in 1964, but she doesn’t feel 54. She’s always hung out with people younger than herself, using the same slang phrases and jargon as people half her age. Marianna knows all about the latest up-to-date technology and social media. Her clothes are the latest fashions. In fact, Marianna feels uncomfortable and awkward around people who were born around the same time as her. They seem boring, staid and she doesn’t share their interests and goals.

Marianna works out and is careful what she eats. She buys a lot of expensive body lotions and uses hair colourants to cover up her spattering of grey. She has good genes too. Marianna’s skin is great. People often think her 37 year old stalker is her older sister. Marianna can dance half the night without getting tired and run for the bus without getting out of breath. She listens to Radio X. Marianna can drink five bottles of WKD and snort a line of coke and go to work the next day without a hangover. Her doctor says she has the liver of someone half her age.

Marianna wants to get her passport changed to say she was born in 1971. Why shouldn’t she? She identifies and presents as someone much younger than herself. Why should society’s narrow view of what a 47 year old should be restrict her like this? People’s refusal to tell Marianna that she actually really is 47 really upsets her and she has become depressed recently. She knows how she feels. Marianna says that society’s refusal to let her change her age is oppressive and cruel.

Should we all be obliged to tell Marianna she is 47?
If not, why not?





“εσεις οι ανθρωποι προσπαθειτε να μπειτε συνεχεια ο ενας στο μυαλο του αλλου”

Candybarwriter (Superstarfighter) – poem

“We have art in order not to die of the truth.”, I explained as I saw Narcissus kiss his own self-reflection in the waters of the fountain of eternal youth.

Keep staring I said and you looked this way
Keep staring I said and asked you to look the other way

You think this story is about you
but it’s really not
what the fuck do you think you are looking at
when you come over here
to have a look and grab at everything I got

You think my stories are delusional
I don’t give a shit
It was never for you
or about you
or anything you see around you kid

I only live inside my head
and I am happy to keep it that way
I never asked you to come over here
and look at a single word
from my own demented play

Jacking lyrics
Have field day
I’d give it all away
Nothing is mine
or yours
And nothing is here to stay

I once saw a rapist who said
The world ends for someone somewhere everyday
Do you remember his name?

Als der Strom weg war
Bliebst du bei mir
Und sagtest nichts mehr
Als wärst du in mir
Vom Angelpunkt verschlungen
Als hätt’ ich mir die Haut vom Körper abgezogen
Nichts außer mir

Und in Gedanken ging ich zu dir
Und ich sagte: “Bitte hilf mir
Vergiß die Lieder die ich spiel
Die hatten nie etwas zu tun mit dir
Die sind so hohl wie ich und darauf du:
“Und davon handeln wir.”