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| | mardi, avril 26, 2005

"Sometimes I wish I was married." she sighed.
"Why?"
"I would love to be part of a dual entity. The hypenated combination of 2 names. The illusion that you are no longer alone in this world.
It's so easy to just give in. To give up all that you are and become part of that person you love. It's an almost religious belief, beyond all rationality: to trust another person with your life. To hand over the steering wheel voluntarily to a pirate.
To risk being pushed up a small wooden gangway and into the sea, after being stripped of treasures and ornaments."
"The hyphen is there for a reason." I tell her. "In our world only genes can unite. There is no everlasting, complete, balanced union of passion and love, only collaboration and support or hate and battle." I pause.
"I was married once, you know."
She looks me in the eye, surpised.
"I shoudn't have done it, I know. But I wanted the fairytale. I liked the beginning of the story so much, I wanted to live it."
"Although you had read the ending?"
"Yes," I answered. "It lasted 5 years. Then, one day, I found them together in our bed, all sweaty with lust and desire and an empty gaze in their eyes.
"Join us", they whispered. It's not exclusive. You are part of us. We don't lock you out."
They should have. I stepped back, onto the small wooden board. The fresh breeze of the waves brushing against my legs, lifting my skirts. And then I fell, along the boat with it's small portholes and big anchor chains into the wild ocean. In my hands the small bloodstained golden key that was my wedding ring.

|


Dear Mr. Tunick,
On saturday May 7th, you plan to photograph your new work of art in Bruges.
Coincidence, but that day is Gay Pride day in Brussels.
So - rain or shine - it's choosing between art or pride... What a pity.
I have this vision of 10 000 naked gays :-)



Participate in Bruges, Belgium for an installation by contemporary artist Spencer Tunick

Take advantage of this unique opportunity on Saturday, May 7, 2005 - rain or shine.

Participants will only be nude for a short period of time and in exchange for taking part, you’ll receive a photograph of the installation by the artist.

Participants will be contacted closer to the date of the installation with further instructions and arrival time.

Only participants will be allowed in the vicinity of the art event.

more info: http://www.corpusbrugge05.be/pages/start.asp

| | mercredi, avril 20, 2005

Tuesday Apil 12, controversial an radical feminist Andrea Dworkin (58) died.
Check out the profile in The Guardian.
I started reading her website.
Dworkin completely opposes pornography. I don't watch porn so I haven't really thought about it that much. I never claimed porn was bad because I don't want to be regarded as a conservative or anti-sexual, but Dworkin is right. It's not about conservatism, prudishness or narrowmindedness but about how women are depicted.

Check this article, The Porn Myth, by Naomi Wolf. It's about Dworkin's views. (via bnox)

| | vendredi, avril 08, 2005

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.


T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land.

An ideal moment to reread this marvelous poem.
And it's on the internet, notes and all!

| | mercredi, avril 06, 2005

I took some time off last week, hoping to relax and unwind while finding my way through an endless maze of small and very old streets in a sunny southern town.
After some time I knew the maze by heart and could blindly find my way, but the more I strolled around and led my companions to unknown corners and hidden treasures, the more I felt it. The feeling. Inside. This wasn't me. A totally new feeling crept into my brain. A tormented, contradicting, ever-changing moodiness.
It started slowly and at first I thought it was just my brain getting even with my body, because I was neglecting my own personality, under the influence of my older and perhaps rather dominating companions. Because I was walking around with my hands in the pockets of my jeans for minutes without noticing. Usually I mind not doing the hands routine, because it's so cheap and macho.
So I reckoned the gloominess was an effect of neglect, of posing like something other then I was. But the feeling remained. Even when I was alone or when I slept.
It grew. It became sharp and pointed and it felt as if I was talking and moving in darkness. Torns ripped through my sentences, my look was cold and shiny like a blade and I could switch from laughter into venomenous spitting in two words.
It felt as if two alien powers were fighting a battle inside my head.
For days and days this continued. The more I tried to understand my state of mind, the more I questioned myself. What was it that I wanted? Was I in doubt? Was I unhappy? Did I make the wrong choices in life? Should I leave everything behind never to return home?
I couldn't think of any answer in my overcrowded head and every stingy move I made was followed by guilt. I was being nasty.
Who was I? Why did I feel as if someone was personally taking over part of my brain? My life, myself?
It took me days to realize what was happening. Someone was trespassing. Going too far. Someone was venturing in my territory, trying out a few things here and there.
Someone was making me feel... jealous.
I realized that when once again I was strolling around with my hands in my pockets without noticing. The jealousy was eating away at my common sense. It was making me bitter and sad and irrational. It made me do and say things I never normally would.
How could I possibly be possessed by such a demon? I believed in sharing happiness, in non-exclusiveness, in freedom, in ties of love and friendship stronger than petty feelings of possessiveness or envy or sexual dependency. I believed in never limiting someone's room to move. Everybody needs love, so when you have it, why not share it.
But this was all theory of course.
I found out that I could share to a certain extend. But even then I got jealous.
I got jealous of my lover and her former lover. The way they talked, the way they organized things, making me invisible, turning back time to a moment when I wasn't in her life yet.
Out it came, a burst of bile, bitter hate, humiliation, disgrace, weakness, shame and fear.
I tried to step out of their time, to run away, to get her back. I would have given anything not to have to be there. But there was no escape. I was trapped in my own maze, alone, while everyone else was enjoying a nice holiday.

| | lundi, avril 04, 2005


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