TCSD, PJ Harvey, Fiona Apple Isolation Hills.

TCSD (Anti-capitalist Queer Pride) in Berlin was fantastic although a bit too much to take in for my emotional state at the moment. Some photos taken of me from the rally, where I dj:ed and was a bit of a...hmm... background dancer, tihi, for the performances in the Mash Up Multi Gender Multi World-truck:

 

PS: Three complete genius clips:

Ahh, the intensity of every Fiona Apple-performance. And there's a thunderstorm outside. Thunder and lightning storms always calm me down - a feeling that always comes to me when meeting somebody or something as intense as I. Every time I start to give something I end up giving everything - I want and need to give everything, my everything, and that can be so exhausting and I've been doing it since I was 2 and knew the names of almost every car brand and flower type (queer-child!) and sometimes I wonder how am I going to do this for the rest of my life? But I’m going to have to figure out how... I am doing this and for once I am allowing for it to proceed at a slow pace...

My scars were reflecting the mist in your headlights

Frida: "Remind me what I wanted then... "
Guillermo: "You wanted to be your own person."


PS Polarization takes far too much energy and is never really correct and for perhaps the first time in my life sadness feels just as, if not more, liberating than anger. #Growing. 


PS 2 My scars were reflecting the mist in your headlights: ‎"On The Idler Wheel, Apple once again shows that merely wanting to open oneself up to any sort of emotion after suffering 34 years of wounds, from simple social slights to much deeper lacerations, is a scary prospect. Yet taking that plunge into the unknown is worth doing, not only for the way it allows hurt to pass but for the way that passage enables growth. In a world of animated-GIF reaction shots and retweets turning human expression into a nuance-obliterating, endlessly self-cannibalizing, pop-culture-referencing semaphore system, Apple’s willingness (or maybe the correct word is need) to dig deep and excavate the black gunk that has settled at the bottom of one’s heart after so long, is a welcome shock."

‎"Art is why I get up in the morning - but my definition ends there, you know it doesn't seem fair, that I'm living for something I can't even define"

USA

‎"And he became torn between actually being a good person and taking everything that society had to offer a conventionally handsome, charismatic and intelligent guy like him"

Keeping the red-coats where they belong.

So alive up on stage

But now here you are

Hidden.

Exposing nails to the skin

The sharp turn

Leading to a crack in my wrist

The red coats run

Spreading in all directions

Only inside the body

Can they be an organized army

The sting of hot chili

Keep it in your mouth!

You fool killing your own cells.

Prolonging the pain in your brain by temporary pain in controlled slits and boxes.

A private stall leading down the drain

Trying to catch a fish with a thin piece of paper.

Breaks by blood by water
Nothing like Yoko Ono-cut piece

Leave my flesh alone.

Your smile enchants everyone.

Lie behind.

Nobody really takes pleasure in their own pain.

Yet the stormy winter persists inside

White powder up your nose

White powder in your wounds.

The black tar refuses excavation

By hiding itself from twitter and instragram as they join hands to tell you to celebrate in boasting forms of self-cannibalization

But you dared to smear the red berries

And triumphantly carved the word SLUT across your chest

An anxious auspicion for moribund to turn orotund

My scars are shining in the light.

Neither Pride nor Shame.

Kiss my history.

Ass-Monologues

My legs spread! ;-)

Is that a girl or a boy?

Is that a girl or a boy? They looked at me again and than at each other and agreed that I was a girl... The first question is why the question is relevant and the second question is why the answer is seen as so important? Meanwhile I'm quite happy every time I'm not categorized as a cis-male (I was hardly wearing any make-up, but heels!)

Bagism

‎"The intent of bagism was to satirize prejudice and stereotyping. Bagism involved literally wearing a bag over one's entire body. According to John and Yoko, by living in a bag, a person could not be judged by others on the basis of skin color, gender, hair length, attire, age, or any other such attributes. It was presented as a form of total communication. Instead of focusing on outward appearance, the listener would hear only the bagist's message."

‎"One sees rightly only with the heart, the essential is invisible to the eyes."

PS Fiona Apple: ‎"To call what she does “crazy” (or “verbose” or “indulgent”) is to characterize an openness about and understanding of one’s own faults as pathological. It is a way of condemning not only extreme emotions but the mere desire to experience emotions... When Fiona Apple tells us she just wants to feel everything, it strikes me that this might just be the best life goal you could possibly have as an artist, and the only way to truly understand the endlessly confusing and anxious-making lives we’ve all been given."

Recension av "In Burning - In Bashing Back - In Blooming" i Norbottens-Kuriren

Spelade upp min föreställning i Luleå i lördags och fick en fin recension i Norbottens Kuriren. Dock skrev de fel pronomen, men det är varken första eller sista gången det blir så =(. Allt som allt är dock jag glad över recensionen!

Stream-of-consciousness poem in 10 parts

So, this is what my brain produced today - a stream-of-consciousness poem in 10 parts. 11 pages long. A secret prize will be given to everyone who reads it all ;-)

I - The life of surviving

Don’t go Baking with Sylvia Plath

Cuddling Cobras with Cleopatra

Swimming with Virginia Woolf

Or into the garage with Anne Sexton.

No, When the vein of melancholy explodes

And the blood is outpouring

Forming the body’s swelling

And the brain is aflame

Falling down to an unbearable terrain

And your mind is not a liveable place

Calm down

Don’t stress

You have been here many times before

Lie down at the bottom of my abyss and just look up at the sky

Relax

Breath

Don’t panic

You’ve been here before

Lean into it

Don’t face the ground

Or desperately start to climb

Just face upwards towards the light

And be still.

Soon the day will come when you are not afraid of the abyss

And therefore can take the risk to blossom 

Instead of remaining tight inside the bud

You are a butterfly, a bird, a plane

And the gashes you got from your breaks

Create the gaps and the flaps necessary for wings to take flight

I appreciate happiness so much

Because it isn’t my inclination

At times it is cleansing and puring to hear about peoples failure and mishaps, anxieties and worries.

If you’ve been through an inner-Belsen you don’t want to hear about the little birdies still singing, you want to hear from someone who’s also been there

To not feel alone.

This world is fucked up

The more you deviate from the white heteronormative class-privileged cis-male

The more you’re gonna get punched and put down

What is valuable is not to get through life without anything bad happening to you

But to learn how to make something beautiful out of it.

I’m really bad at staying out of trouble

I’m really good at getting out of trouble

Getting into trouble is inevitable if you want to live relatively free

We are the beauty of the living anomaly

Empathy from someone who’s been there

not sympathy

nor charity

But A lifetime of lucidity

If our pain and mistakes make us more compassionate and less judgemental, they are all the more worthwile.

As love separates itself from the ego

I see a moth and a butterfly go and land in the middle of times square

merging together reminding everybody of the illusion of the separation between beautiful and ugly.

The worst pain is named shame.

And missed opportunities create too much anxiety

As if everything missed was much more precious

Than what we’ve actually done

Vibrating with relaxation.

Accept the pain

Realize you are filling your quota to make the joy whenever and wherever it rears it’s beautiful head feel ever the more intense later.

My safety-net from total precarity.

Being a living anomaly

Ridding me from Sanctimony

The angel of the gap saved 164 lives.

My Frida Kahlo-heart is not annoying.

II The life of intensity

I do remember being purely happy as an eight year old skiing straight down the olympic downhill course in Squaw Valley.

Joy is at it’s most pure when it includes tears

The rawboned open wound, isn’t always pretty,

but it shines through to the heart

pulsing with life

brutal and true

Only the exposed wound can heal fully.

Thrills in a minor key.

Incredible – Indelible

The maelstrom Turned to lava that shot hot up from under the ocean making an island.

Iceland provides new horizons both politically and as a space and a place that is still making moss alongside black beaches.

I wonder if being so tightly tethered around human emotion is responsible for my inability to drive a car, operate anything technical or snap my fingers.

I’m always too happy

Or too sad

Or too angry

The dangerous speed of the flow of my emotions

The reason why I must never drive a car

My road bares with it the intensity of running up and down a hill till your knees give way - we get to enjoy the view from the top AND we used to tumble down the hill, now we have learned how to stay sure on our feet.

Really my life is quite simple

My heart is the pallet

My blood is the paint

Like when I was a kid and didn’t have any friends so I talked

and sang

and danced

and even stripped for the cows instead,

so it’s also easy to sing for the east river

And it’s good practice for adding a human audience while acting as if you don’t

A version of fiona apple’s fast as you can that seduced and scared

Losing all restraint

screaming, hitting, scratching the air and myself

As if I was trying to tell them what it is like walking up and down a hill 400 times and still having energy left.

Why are we all hiding things

Especially our failures and traumas

As if we had something to be ashamed of

The scratch marks don’t mark my self-destruction

Frida Kahlo - She fit 500 years of life and emotions into 47 and I plan to do the same.

Ever since I had my violent nose-bleed all over her biography in 2008

As if the organ that pumps blood just told the rest of the body to spew it out.

Your intensity is wonderful on stage, art, music and writing

But please keep it there!

A whore from hell who takes her shirt off in front of a crowd of 30 000 people and has fuck you written across her tits.

Living for the moment of freedom in the rush of raging against the machine that is trying to crush us all.

My Frida Kahlo-heart is not annoying.

III A manifesto for the freaks among the freaks

In order to not succumb to capitalism's story of what life means

you have to re-create the universe each morning when you wake up

And murder it at night

It may sound a bit outrageous

but there you have it.

this process is very necessary in order for me to even be able to fall asleep at night and get up in the morning.

Capitalism can’t handle me

I’m too crazy.

Painting life-denying white over life-defining red Viva La Vida, Viva La Revolution, I am Catwoman hear me roar, soar, be a self-sufficient whore, Ya Basta! Another world is possible, Alegria, Amor, Arte, Activismo, Go Vegan, Riot Grrrl

The bourgeousie are moving in.

Not even the Heart can remain.

You were scaring me with your decent, dignified and good behaviour,

As if the person I thought I had connected with had gotten a lobotomy and now went about mingling like a robot with a broad smile painted on its face programmed to participate in a competition of how many times you can answer "How are you?" with "Great!" (I counted to 28) - than you turned to me and said, without a hint of irony, that in this world it is not what you know, but who. As if you had the key and were offering to open the door for me. Nobody’s talent is big enough. Not even yours. Instantly I nose-bled like a cascade turning the white wine to red.

Hopeless, you thought to yourself, while secretely feeling a bit relieved that atleast I wouldn't be drinking the wine glass, seeing that it would lead to me jumping up on the table and acting like a slut.

But I am a slut

After all I have spent my whole life straddling the Atlantic.

An emotionally morbid slut.

Those of us who feel too much and don’t bother hiding it

We surface in the paintings of Frida Kahlo

The poems of Sylvia Plath

And the music of Fiona Apple

Art that comforts the disturbed and disturbs the comfortable

I am busy un-learning

Ambition wins over passion, love, ethics and empathy

The internalized fascist capitalist patriarchy

Strength is good

Weakness is bad

Hide the truth to seem strong!

Flaunt your successes

Hide your failures

Cover up your wounds

Always-Always-Always

Tear down all the advertisements in the metro

Subvert the mainstream

Wear a corsett, short skirt and stilettos

At university

On the news.

Everyone's gotta listen to the slutty punk femmes we've learned so much more than them business men.

Forcing us to be extremely street smart in order to not get beat up

But not even that bares with it any guarantees

Us gender warriors can’t concentrate on specific things

Cuz we’re so used to having to be completely aware of everything in our surroundings

”If you are not with me you are against me”

Only a Sith deals in absolute terms.

The smartest thing said in the Star Wars-trilogy

The moribund days will end.

My Frida Kahlo heart is not annoying.

IV The Body The Mind The Soul

I used to separate body, mind and soul

Than I was all soul, mind and no body

Now I am struggling to connect the three

Years of getting all my passion out through performance and writing

Now it is time for balance.

Since my body was so turned off

My emotions were so turned on

Like you know the blind and the deaf have their other senses turned up higher.

And being alone so much is what’s made me be so intensely in tune with my emotions.

The idler wheel looks like it’s not moving so much,

When it’s actually in the middle of it all

Feeling it all.

When I felt my body was like a warzone

I pretended it didn’t exist

Cuz you do not want to live in war.

I didn’t know if I’d ever enjoy sex again.

But I learned more about my body that hard way.

And I am a broader person because of it.

My Frida Kahlo-heart is not annoying.

V The aloneness

The best things about being without partners to lean on is that you’re kind of skinless

So vulnerable and emotional and on the edge.

It’s also the worst thing.

All the stars are out

I flee from the message of the yew tree

And instead of agonizing about the fig tree

I will just be

And run out into the ocean

At midnight

So far out so no one can see where I went

And no dog can follow the scent

In the quiet bits

sit and cuddle

And in the crazy parts

You must run around.

I was crying my eyes out

The build up had meant that it felt like jumping off a cliff

We held onto eachother with open arms.

My Frida Kahlo heart is not annoying.

VI The Relationships

I am not invested in party culture

Or racing to have the most acquaintances or fucks

I do now understand that I need only to have deep relationships in my life

Whether they are sexual or not sexual

Everything else makes me feel empty

I stay away from what makes me feel empty.

We must pay attention to the world around us and also our inner world and never get any of the two caught up with just one person - the one is the world not a one but a 7 billion.

You search for the one

And you don’t care about anyone else

You find the one

And you care even less about everyone else

And you have the nerve to call it true love

How dare I make love so small!

The human-race is obviously still in it’s embryo

I will not victimize myself in the love game

When all I’ve asked most of my suitors is to be left alone

Soon all my suitors will turn into doctors

First of the head

Than of the body.

To travel back to myself which is essential for my Frida Kahlo-heart to not explode and essential for me to be able to meet you on an equal level.

I ♥ Reflective, compassionate, affectionate sincere dominant people

Full Moons that meet make magic sparks.

Connection not attachment

Affection not addiction

Attraction that is beautiful not boiling over with expectation

Separating love from the ego

The stray cat was not spayed

But that doesn’t make her wiser

Though she selectively sleeps with only butterflies

The monarch

I am more of a swallow-tail

Spending a lot of time around water

Falling in

Laying still

Eventually always floating to shore

Jumping off a cliff

To reach a transcendental space

The growing pains

The distinct difference between vulnerability begging for a lift

And vulnerability strong enough to be open.

The key to being truly alive not just trying to survive.

Staying still

Without the crushing feeling of emptiness.

My Frida Kahlo heart is not annoying.

VII The attraction

1 rape

2 sexual assaults

2 attempted sexual assaults

Hit many times

All times it’s been by men

And you wonder why I prefer femmes?

I am feminine

And therefore expected to be attracted to the masculine

I am not.

And femininity in male-bodies is simply not deemed attractive.

Oh, but it is… Give me more!

At times my sexuality has been limited to

Neurotic Neurotic – Get all your hands off of my body.

Oh and MASTURBATION!!

What relationship can you have with your sexuality if you systematically hand your genitals over to someone else?

Sure I may have been through more than most in the middle class

But that is nothing to boast about in the oppression olympics

I will not bare my bruises as trophies that say I am better than you

Nor will I hide them with shame

If my bruises aren’t making me more compassionate than I’m doing something wrong.

It’s a good thing that most people haven’t been through the assaults and the hate crimes that I’ve been through

Not a bad thing.

I am not damaged goods.

If you dare call me that I’ll crush you with all my goods

And you know what I am neither the inpenetrable survivor

Or the crying victim who suffers in silence

Keeping my wounds to myself so the priviledged can be kept comfortable

Fuck the sex negative-movement for it’s patronizing sympathy

And you know what

Fuck much of the sex positive-movement for making negative sexual experiences invisible

As if the sex positive movement was an exclusive space for those priviledged enough to not have been assaulted

As if those of us who have been assaulted were expected to put a lid on it, smile and just keep up the fuck and the fun.

As if being comfortable with all forms of sex was easy as 1, 2, 3 for everybody

As if it wasn’t a journey.

As if everyone came from happy homes and fuzzy playful childhoods

And mentioning anything else makes you a party pooper in the playground of the privileged

Make your positive experiences public

But keep you negative experiences private.

Don’t you realize the radical politics of being open about your experiences both the positive and the negative

And not hiding your wounds

I want to make porn films where people talk about their experiences with sexual assault

Our woes, problems and healing journey

Proceeding to fuck in front of the camera

For once placing us in a space where we are allowed to be sexual beings.

And allowing pornography to portray whole humans

Filled with complexities.

Or would this be considered too icky - too uncomfortable and definitely not sexy?... Err. Well, than fuck that

We gotta subvert the spaces that makes peoples who’s sexuality hasn’t been gold and green meadows feel excluded.

Really all it takes is for us to be real.

And take off our masks.

And we gotta fight lookism.

Shallow objectifiying

That makes us only our bodies and faces

And only if our bodies and faces fit the norm for beauty.

Take off those masks.

I like BDSM, but it’s gotta be with someone I have a strong emotional connection with

And really that’s the case for all sex for me

”Play-violence” is healing for me, not self-destructive

The fact that I’m really not that interested in casual sex is not necessarily a negative thing

There is not just one generic way to be sex positive

Where the more people you’ve fucked the more sex positive you are

Politics run so much deeper than that

Or else mainstream cruising faggots have reached the ultimate sex positive evolution.

My sexuality embraces the Idler Wheel

It may move slowly

But that is because it is in the middle of it all

Feeling everything.

My Frida Kahlo heart is not annoying.

VIII The growing up

I wasn’t good at making friends

But I was good at starting riots

Getting lost

Having mud fights

And getting bullied

Almost all queers were bullied at school

It makes us emotionally – different.

Extra precarious

Extra sensitive

Or extra hard.

We tried to hide it

I had a ”girlfriend”

She now lives with her lesbian girlfriend in Finland.

Beards already at 8!

I made friends with animals instead

I picked up snails and put them on my body to calm down my intense temperament.

I counted sheep in order to fall asleep

But all the sheep failed to jump over the fence

Except for the black sheep who finally became popular

My Frida Kahlo heart never was annoying.

IX The death

Everybody now living on this earth will be dead within one hundred years.

Frida Kahlo's heart was not annoying.

X The lookism - The nature – The city

With Europe’s most powerful waterfall and the midnight sun in the midst of the mist nothing is missed

not even the streets of Manhattan

The energy here is equal

awake, alive, alert, filled with peace of mind and ready to create.

It hurts how some see us as human-capital

and walking talking blood banks

that get to be hot meat for 15 years

If ever.

I live for the changing of the times

And the times where it is as if somebody pressed a button that stopped the clocks

And oh my can you breath

And not one glance is empty

Aand not one advertisement has survived.

The moth and the butterfly that landed together on the sidewalk in manhattan

Challenging everyone to stop calling one beautiful and the other ugly.

Fuck Dorian Gray

I want to dress up like Catwoman and dance to Azealia Banks

Now and when I am 75.

My life supplies magic.

And endless imagination.

And that is why

My Frida Kahlo heart is not annoying.

The ruling class are the parasites.

Trans-bodies

I've pretty much decided for myself that I'm going to start taking hormones when I'm around 40 - for the same reasons as Justin Vivian Bond has stated - and also, there is something in me that really can't stand the thought of growing old in a male-gendered body, I'm just not going to do that.

BDSM och Strippande kan hjälpa en att bearbeta sexuella övergrepp

Här är en länk till en artikel jag skrev för Femview.se, som har ambitionen att bli som ett feministiskt newsmill - ett fantastiskt forum för feministisk debatt. Artikeln handlar om hur framförallt BDSM men också sexarbete kan vara en viktig del av bearbetandet och läkandet efter sexuella övergrepp - till skillnad från samhällets bild av att det alltid är självdestruktivt. Stora delar av artikeln handlar också om mina personliga erfarenheter. Och det här är typ 4:e artikeln i rad där jag citerer Virginie Despentes King Kong-Theory - men ni vet den är som SCUM-manifestet för 4:e vågens feminism - "In my case prostitution was a crucial step in rebuilding myself after the rape. A business of dollar-by-dollar compensation for what had been taken from me by brute force"