ongoing


i dedicate this writing to my editor and chief E. Thoren



PREAMBLE: my timing is divine

Well yes timing is divine the problem is that I'm the only one who understands that who lives by that
My timing is divine
Things are getting more and more complicated
Life does not get easier with age cause the more you grow the more you know and you get very sick of knowing and wanna go back to just feeling everything
Knowing is stupifying
I become zombie, lobotomy, and I'm poor and unsuccessful and ask for funding for art studies and I never became a professional at anything so I'm totally unworthy cause I can't make money and change the world
I am not interesting anymore now that I do not even feel anything I am nothing I am just access to google but without any unique skill
I work in a cafe but I'm not even good at making coffee cause the way I've done it for the past 10 years is the wrong way according to my new employer I need to unlearn all that so I'm not a barista now either
I am a dreamer because I hate real life because I'm never satisfied because I'm bored and restless
I better become a rock star and play like a man but be a woman cause people will think I'm cool and daring to challenge gender roles when really I just wanna know wtf I'm doing and I wanna get money and I wanna travel and get laid and feel fab


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ANARCHISTS AND ARTISTS *BALKAN EDITION*




Sun, 25 Aug, 16:07 (18 hours ago)
to Einar

dearest madam sir

please accept my sincere apologies, for I am aware that this report is overdue. I hope this has not caused inconveniences to you.

this will outline a brief account of my professional experience in the balkan region last summer, as an artist in residence. to offer you the best possible reading experience, i have chosen to write this report on the past in the present tense from here on, as the present tense is known to provide a much more ecstatic reading experience:

the background story to my art project begins with my first osteopath (i have had different 3 new ones since the first one. the reason as to why, is another story). during first few sessions of me experiencing his divine touch - i fell in love, because here was a man who touched me lovingly without wanting to have sex with me. somehow, it was the sexiest thing i had experienced - first his gentle touch as he examined my body inch by inch, and then the resounding cracking of various body parts, as he fundamentally reshaped my skeleton. wow, what power. radical platonic love, it costs 80 euros per 40 minutes. he changed my life. no man has ever looked at my body like that, with the intent to heal and help. you know? normally, physical interactions would entail anything from violent, to cute to boring sex, all with varying degrees of impact, but suddenly all seemed so basic in comparison to this man's divine expertise and profound engagement: he literally changed my body.

thus - the metaphor of skeleton arose as the main research focus in this project; the structure of the body, the drum kit in music, the structure of society, the structure of our lives and our thoughts - contemplating the idea that even the very bones of our bodies are not bound to fixity, but with the caring touch of love, all can be bent and transformed accordingly. as you might notice, i really do need to be so overtaken by my own conviction from these personal events, that I, in my investigation of such metaphors, begin to think that i am somehow changing the world / messing with the system. as laughable as it may seem - i trust (what other options do I have?) my project becomes a partial hymn to my osteopath. but how am I to express these contemplations? i take these questions with me as I arrive in the balkan region for my project period.

as one fumbles one's way through the darkness of one's own imagination, one sometimes needs some concrete steps in order to get started. so, naturally, i go to find myself some bones. a Turkish butcher gives me the biggest bones of the cow, completely fresh, literally dripping with blood, i can barely fit them in the basket of my bicycle. he asks, do you study medicine? i say, yes.

i cycle back to my residency apartment in the squat - a former military base - occupied by anarchists / artists since the 90s, now public amusement to vast numbers of tourists who fancy themselves a little bit of punk feels. day in and day out, families and couples pose in front of graffitied walls and sculptures made of trash and old car parts. the place looks completely mad, and thus, consequent energies also arise. This also happens to be a summer of extreme weather in the form of thunderstorms and great floods. energies are on HIGH. the area is becoming a temporary home for refugees waiting for further procedures. day in and day out, they hang out in gangs with their coherent culture, each group occupying a different corner of the area, all blasting out their own applicable music from their speakers, all at once. additionally, addicts, drug dealers and homeless people also gather here. because of various crime activities, people also engage in regular fist fights. police (the great enemy) has begun flooding the area on a regular basis. the locals say it is the beginning of the end, an end that has been emerging since the squat first came into existence. it seems to be a matter of 'hanging in there'. at night, the district opens its doors to night clubs, concert venues and bars, also all blasting music, crowded with European and American backpackers who have read about the district on tripadvisor. basically, the area is a prime example of complete contemporary chaos. i am in the privileged position of overlooking this area from my residency studio apartment, one floor above the ongoing tourist attraction / party area / crime scene.

i share this floor with other artist studios and an anarchist collective / library. there is a common kitchen and bathroom. the only way to clean the bones is to boil them for hours. very large bones need at least 12 hours. i go into the common kitchen and retrieve the massive pots used for cooking communal vegan curries, and begin to boil the bones. the entire building begins to smell of bones. i hide in my studio and do not show my face so no one will know that the bones belong to me.

after 12 hours (the next day) i return to clean the bones in the communal kitchen. an anarchist man with whom i have been sensing slightly flirty vibes, enters the kitchen and smiles as he sees me. then he suddenly looks terrified. there i am standing, overhanging the sink. using a spoon and knife, i am scraping out entrails from the hollow inside of the gigantic bones, into the sink that is filling up with slimy semi transparent pieces of fat and bone marrow. i feel completely shaky, how can i explain myself to this man? "ehum, i'm doing an art project about skeletons and i needed some bones...." i am hoping he will laugh. he doesn't laugh. He says "it smells". i say sorry, he says "i guess you have to do what you have to do". i nod. damn, do I HAVE to do this? that's the question.

other vegan anarchists walk by, i wanna die. they're having an important meeting about how to handle the increasing police presence in the area. I'm cleaning massive cow bones and I don't know who I am. eventually, an artist next door walks by. he takes a quick yet intrigued look at the bones and says "it looks like a sculpture". i begin to think that i am an artist again.

i didn't flirt with the anarchist guy more after that, frankly - i avoided him. In the end, I found no use of those cow bones in my project. I hid them in black trash bags and disposed of them in the trash bins in front of the squat.

evidently, being an artist is not merely an experience in being a precious object in an art collection, adored by fashionable men. being an artist is also this. to quote one of my art daddies: "there are many art worlds within the art world".

best wishes, madam sir










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EXAMINED LIFE: THE TEMPLE DOORWAY

Vida Vojić
Fri, 23 Aug, 14:12 (3 days ago)
to Einar

Dear madam sir

I am aware that you are expecting my balkan report - I will try my best to send this to you before the end of this workday (inshallah). however, first I had some further thoughts about artists and eating disorders that I wanted to address before furthering this exchange.

I would argue that the divine gift of artistry is not comfort, but rather, it is the gift of an interesting life. my body and identity are mere vehicles, collecting research data, in every instant. in order to manage this obscure path - a path of no definite sources of income or career steps - one must transform oneself into an adventure addict. I thus put up with all kinds of strange situations, because there is not much other choice than to roam from town to town looking for a little bit of freedom (a bit of money and time) while contemplating existence. a way to survive this strange life is to assign meaning to exactly everything i.e. make everything into a research project / divine encounter.

This includes toxic relationships - i sometimes work with people whose energies are clearly detrimental to my health, yet in return, I might be offered something else (e.g. experience, connections, payment, information) and for the most part, these relationships are terminated by deadlines, so I often stick things out. since I remain monastically unmarried and childless, I still have my freedom, i.e. extended periods of solitude. During these, I clean away toxic energy with some youtube qigong and then I channel these profound shadow realm revelations into creative projects. i do believe that if i gave too much attention to the weight of trauma and the importance of safety measures - i truly would not get much work done.

since my life coach recommended that I be "brutally honest", I will now dig even closer to the truth. On the topic of eating disorders, one might ask whether I am on a tight diet or just a tight budget? maybe I am on a tight budget, thus a tight diet. I am on a tight diet so as to explore monastic life and attain a deeper understanding of the nature of god. I am on a tight diet to get skinnier, feel lighter (closer to god / the heavens) and become hotter (to promote myself as female drummer for rent). There are many possible explanations - I pick accordingly. While only eating rice and lentils, verging on starvation, i remind myself that buddha certainly succeeded with his creative projects. So did jesus, although his path led to quite a misfortunate end on the cross. If we were to ponder why their lives shared similar motives and missionary impact, yet culminated in vastly different personal outcomes - let us remember that buddha was born a worthy prince, while jesus was born a refugee on a pile of hay next to some cow shit. Certain predestined outcomes are not too mysterious. Looking at my own sociopolitical background, I cannot afford a lawyer, but I can at least go back home to mama. it remains to be seen where my end shall be.

As a creative, I am free to create a reason why I behave the way i behave. as I refine my concept-making skills, I am able to explain anything. Difference is key, so I make a choice: no, i will not eat the pizza. i will upset the order. i am so unique. it certainly makes the hipsters uncomfortable, because hipsters like pizza and know that eating disorders are bad. they also know that sex is good, thus monks, with their eating disorders and vows of chastity, certainly must be a bunch of bad crazy people.

i often entertain the thought of what life would be like if it wasn't merely reactive, i.e. shoved through a constant judgement of right and wrong. a world that is not just inside or outside. a world of divine chaos. To remember that we consist of cells, that jump around as they wish, or as I wish (? who am I). Sometimes as I ponder these thoughts, I begin to fall through a black hole within myself.

On that note, I wish to circle back to what you referred to in your previous email, to which I would like to say that - perhaps you are right - questioning what is true or not, irony or sincerity, may be likened to the questioning of consciousness itself: something arises within consciousness that makes consciousness want to understand what consciousness is. What a mind fuck.

the joker's response may be: why waste time trying to obtain truth, when one can simply cheat? the joker as the god before god. meet me in the doorway to the temple, one foot in the bleak reality, one foot in the eternal grace of god. my mouth split awkwardly midway.

I send you my divine light, dear fellow sir madam. I will deliver the balkan report as agreed upon. I'm wishing you a fulfilling afternoon.

regards




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MONASTIC LIFE



Mon, 19 Aug, 23:50 (7 days ago)
to Einar

Dear madam / sir

I hope this finds you well. Here follows a report on last week's visit to the international art event, where I fulfilled my service as an "active sculpture". My new business is called "rent a female drummer'. everyone sees its great potential. It's like, being a model or prostitute, but with a more refined skill. As a drummer, I'm protected by the musician's guise, and my act looks supposedly feminist or pro-woman because drums are loud, with a sense of authority, and I am woman.

I really played like shit, but no one knew or noticed this (except the odd musician in the crowd, who afterwards was like "how much did you say you charged this museum to play 15min?") because this was an art event, everyone thought I was great. you know, it looked great. the idea, the set up, was just so new. a drum kit being played next to art pieces. a staged performance by a fictional rock band. it is strange that, when you put something in a gallery, people assign all this mystical meaning to it. The museum owner (the rich art collector) shook my hand enthusiastically afterwards. He had just come out of the closet and employed two cute and young twinks working for him. I found it quite hard to read him.

People thought I was great. I replied hahaha while lots of strange things went on in my face. I wore sunglasses indoors, it looked like an aesthetic choise but really it was just a way to protect myself from being seen with an extremely flaky and doubtful gaze. I'm practicing this joker trait - to wry my entire face - actor's do it all the time, right? professional schizophrenics. it may eventually turn me into a complete craze, will I ever find my way back to sincerity?

The Abrahamic religions don't have no trickster ideology - that's more pagan. no robin hood character, so if you steal from the rich to give to the poor, you're still a thief, a sinner. So I have been working for the devil, in hopes of earning enough money to one day start my own little church and wash all my sins away, but no, God knows I have been sinful.

Afterwards we went into the club (also owned by the museum owner) and took drugs. The crew were fashionable millennial artists, who spend their time between Berlin, Ibiza and New York. The one New Yorker in the crew was black, gay, a performance artist and a bitch. I said I'd love to visit New York and perform there, he said but like who are you? And, na-a that's not how new york works baby. YOU GOTTA BE SOMEONE. YOU DON'T JUST COME TO NEW YORK AND GET A SHOW LIKE THAT. NA-A. The rest were white German visual artists, some of whom were quick to conclude that the problem in the world is religion and that we have to "move on". When I told one of them that we should abolish the nuclear family, he thought I hadn't had any luck with love in my life.

I have never before received that amount of male attention in one go, but it only makes sense - I was the object of the night, the precious, expensive, exclusive object. The divine image, the expensive thing. Maybe this is what it's like to be famous? Being a "moving, physical object" might make me even more of a precious, hot jewel, because I'm more real than a hologram or a sculpture, and I dance. If I get really good at this business, maybe I can charge a real good amount in the future, just with my mere physical presence. One guy asked if he could kiss me, I said if you buy me a drink, and so it was. I really felt nothing when we danced and they touched my pussy and tits, in my head I just thought, nananana new york nananana how to get more things for free nanana. When they said I was beautiful, I thought it was gonna make me happy, but it was more of a haha-feeling. So now, I don't understand what makes me happy anymore.

At some point, I told the serious looking guy - the guy with glasses who wasn't making a move on me - that I don't believe in any of this, that all of this dancefloor and techno music is an illusion, and that once, I met god in a Buddhist temple. I told the guy "I could give up all of this. I'm seriously considering a monastic life".

Now I am struggling to get clean; I am eating müsli late at night, just cause I want to. Underneath it, I believe I must be bored, stressed or sad. bad excuses / deadly sins. I miss the time during the pandemic when I had an eating disorder, i.e. only ate rice and lentils 2 times a day for 3 months, and didn't meet a soul. That was some of the happiest times of my life, I was so close to God. Now they call it anorexia. Have they no respect for a monk's holy rites? na na, keep buying that pizza. Who doesn't love pizza. Pizza is what makes us human, huh. think of all the flavours. Which one do you pick today? wanna have a beer with it? Yeah let's fucking go for it!

Now I'm back in the balkans. The artists here are also anti religion, but they're simultaneously anti genocide. Every country really is its history. I remember when I first came here; I was very young and very depressed, eating fatty bureks for lunch and dinner and scared that all men I met were gonna rape me. Tonight, although having eaten that goddamn müsli for no good reason, I did a 10 qigong evening routine on youtube, and the path really doth feel less murky. Things do get better.

Please do feel free to share reports from your end too.

All the best, sincerely yours

Madam V.



Tue, 20 Aug, 11:06 (6 days ago)
to me

My dear Madam Sir

I'm currently working, in an office, developing what eventually will be an art house film. It's a job which signals on the outside, this is art, however the day to day is that off office work. im religious i think, because i revere the way of how i can put my body to finish tasks and organize, my mind totally blank, my soul displaying a picture to my inner world; that of a big pond instead of water money, from the roof time is displayed as every minute coin falls to widen the pond.

You get the jist. I too make myself ghostly. it's a divine practice however ugly it may seem.

your mail is brilliant. I wonder, why is it that art creates this veiled outlook on life. its as if practicing art, and if you could say that art is mimicking something, this practice makes a rift in worlds and makes one isolated. the mimicking making life itself now impossible to get back too, without a feeling of larping. is this why so many artists isolate themselves become weird and unapproachable. Have they've exhumed their ways and analysed their very existence to ruin, all that is left now is acting. that inwards turned eye, has been opened and can never close again.

Being awkward in this whole charade is I think genetic. i must believe so, to be free of myths of free choice. i will let the past die, so that i can be free of pondering what choice led me too this place. this place is awkward. its my fault since everywhere i stand the awkwardness seeps from my very being and inflicts itself upon the outerworld. i will choose to see this as beautiful.

i want to know more about adventures in the balkans.
do write about nothing at all,



Wed, 21 Aug, 12:12 (5 days ago)
to Einar

dear sir madam

it delights me to have news from you. although I sense an imminence of melancholia in your tone, you are nonetheless strikingly profound, with an air of a pilgrim who ponders life and seeks the divine nature hidden behind the surface. i certainly hope you have adopted healthy office routines. screens may have been made for humans, however, let us remember that humans were definitely not made for screens. do take breaks.

humans might have made screens for humans, but what do humans know about what humans need? i am yet again hinting at god here, who, aside from creating us, also created Eden for us, but like lame ploughmen we got seduced by the dark powers and now be forever doomed to a life of examining every little particle of soil so as to develop technologies to maximise work for the sake of production, meanwhile murdering our brother, the innocent and intuitive shepherd. now, dear madam sir, we have managed to create our own world, far from eden, far from god and the animals. a productive world of machines and intricate systems. is this what makes us different from animals - possessing this godly gift of creation? creator force can be channeled into anything, I suppose. dante said we should "transhumanise" - that is, become better than humans. that presumes one already knows what a human is. i don't know anything anymore. I invited a friend into further contemplation of these topics last night, while we were sitting in her mom's flashy jeep and she was ordering deep fried shrimps at mcdonald's drive in.

I can no longer tell where irony begins and ends. our era hath brought certain tones to incomprehensible extremes. It is said that, in the beginning was the word, and the word was with god. the word is, clearly, no longer with god - no religion holds the central pillar of defining value, so, one might ask, why not lie? what is the central pillar of value made of today? if function, or profit, is the meaning of life, then lying clearly works, right? if afterlife is a mere constructed fantasy, then your lies will not lead to eternal punishment. death, the terrifying unknown, is just an unfortunate event. the evolved ploughmen are of course working to find ways of eliminating this inevitable end.

Am I being ironic in these emails? "Oh, certainly not, dear sir madam!" I may reply, and you may believe me, or we may both be playing this game very well. if, in the unlikely case that in some faraway future, our distant descendants find our writings, 4000 years from now - will they understand our irony? how will they interpret us, and our wretched era? will they be able to detect the difference between our conversation, and those of a respectable professor, a professional salesman, or a bot generated spam mail?

Since you kindly asked me for a Balkan report, I will try my best to provide you with one asap. however, first i believe I will need provide you with some further context of my work history in this region, since this is already an established collaborative relationship since a few years back. I shall give you an account of last year's events here, but that will have to wait til later this week. now i must get back to my very productive artist life.

all the best

Madam Sir V



Thu, 22 Aug, 10:34 (4 days ago)
to me

My dear reverd Madam Sire

I chose not long ago to say, the irony is that I like it like this.
I cannot ponder too much on irony, its reasons and present state, i think because my brain goes gogo gaga.
Everytime someone tries to say something profound on the reality of today (which often entails different analyzes on irony and how the modern person hides behind it etc), i get a picture of a toybox. The title of the box says, " babys first decoding present day irony". The picture is of a baby holding a small rubber pen holding a fake screen doing some sort of cultural analysis. Eyes and mind totally blank, smiling, drooling and hollering as babies do.

My heart will always be very open towards the jinxters and clowns, they needn't regard layers of seriousness. They aren't confused or bewildered by what's real and what isn't, whats sincere, profound and what just is a good old prank or a stupid joke. I love the sad jokes. The ones starting with a remark on the stupidity of something absurd, swiftly followed with the reality of melancholy and the dread of reality. Perhaps it ends though, on the note of what if, or imagine a world so completely different. And so with the end fantasy takes place in the narrative. Do you know what I mean? I agree my love I am melancholic. It's my poison i drink from it gladly. i say its nurturing, "babys first selfmade tragedy".

On my employee's behest, I must now immediately return to work, which at the current moment involves making myself look occupied, and therefore worthy of the work. oh holy work, inshallah work.

Fare thee well

Love and light
My dear




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NETWORKER


Thu, 8 Jun 2023, 10:16
to Einar

Dear madam sir

I am writing you from Copenhagen, Denmark, where I am currently on a business trip. I feel so incredibly lucky to have been invited here. They wanted me here. They paid my trip and hotel. I have a hotel. I am qualified. They are teaching me networking skills. We are a group of emerging artists (white girls) all looking to sell ourselves to the international industry during the upcoming networking event days. They are successful older industry people who speak about the 90s. When I had to present myself and my art I said my name is vida but that's not my real name I'm a fictional character haha, but no one laughed. Then I continued- my art cannot be explained, I sell mystery, I think I'm psychic. Then I remembered that mysticism is dead in Scandinavia. Even hippies love their facts here. Mother earth is like, an issue.

Later I had to pitch my performance, I said "it's basically based on being a bit of an idiot" after which my coach daddy criticised me saying I should not reduce myself but take myself more seriously.

Last night I got back to my hotel and ate the protein crisps they were handing out at the workshop. Then I went to the shopping mall and didn't find what I was looking for but found body shop and put serum etc on my face, too cowardice to steal. Upset that the workshop people hadn't recognised the wisdom of my ancient soul, I began suspecting it's cause the packaging is getting older. The vitamin c skin mask really smelt like shit.

Did you know that a big theme in performance art right now is mental illness? Another big one is capitalism. Then there is also queerness and feminism. Oh and you mustn't forget climate crisis and sustainability. The usual and best thing you can do is to combine two of these when you present, such as "a queer-feminist take on climate change..." or "how capitalism affects mental illness". This was my main takeaway from the workshop + asking people questions about who they are BEFORE you start selling yourself, so as to appear genuinely interested and humble.

I am learning not to complain- this will make me a millionaire. Prosperity is for everyone with faith. This is why I began my email expressing gratitude. I will also end it as such. Words + intention is magic. I feel very grateful to have been invited to Copenhagen, Denmark. It is truly a blessing that others want you to succeed. I will harness this energy with the utmost gratitude.

I'm gonna sleep now cause I am so excited for hotel breakfast.

All the best to you sir madam

Madam Vida


P.S. I passed some people outside McDonalds recently with signs saying 'free bible course'. I think I'll give it a go, wanna join?




Einar Thorén
Fri, 9 Jun 2023, 19:31
to me

Dear madam sir!

I am so very happy to hear from you

do proceed with utmost caution when tampering with faith.
what if you wish for things that will eventually hurt and inevitably eventually lead to your personal doom.

i do think to wish for nothing and give nothing in return is by far the safest bet.

give this a good thought.




Tue, 30 Jan 2024, 03:44
to me

Dear madam sir!

I hope this email finds you well. Also i hope nothing horrible will happen shortly after the email has eventually found you. i do mean this, very sincerely. What if the email found you well in an instance of luck and blissful ignorance? Unknowingly that something horrible would be lurking just around the corner, like a sickness or death even.

I am in Hong Kong in a five star hotel. there is misery in the world beacuse it is sick. one must have a protocal for this, i am however unqalified, i can only conclude in a serious manner, it is all very bad and something should be done! what that something should be, is ultimately up for a long procedural review.

I know of your rock-tour! it all seems very urgent. I hope everything is tracked and measured.

All the best and huge love,
from the office in HK

Best
and best love
the most correct love that is




Mon, 12 Feb 2024, 10:37
to Einar

Dear madam sir

Thank you so much for following up with me and my truest and most sincere apologies for not getting back to you.

It gladdens me greatly to hear that you are in Hong Kong, pursuing business trips as usual despite impending doom. I believe humans are great multitaskers. It is important to have spine - and remember to practice detachment - all suffering is the result of attachment, and all life is sorrowful.

How are your networks going? I have a feeling that Hong Kong as a culturally intersectional zone may bring forth prosperous and useful perspectives in times like these. It seems as though the worlds are falling in on each other. Just the other year, it was significantly easier to distinguish good from bad, yet now there seems to be an emergent sense of sinister truth lurking in precisely everything.

I have indeed completed a rock tour recently. Today I am sick in bed and unhappily in love. This might be what my yoga therapist referred to as karma. Despite now being dedicated to a life of sobriety and prayer, I have received a lot of attention and praise. For this, I must be punished. It is only right.

I believe it is the way things go, the ebb and flow - just look at the economy! Remember people who were cynics in 2019? I wonder how they are coping today. I would like to propose - if thou ist one who feels things greatly - thou may be known as someone with a high charge. This charge can be used upwards or downwards - your free will determines whether you be an angel or a demon.

Furthermore, I regret sending an email to someone I find intriguing and would like to date. I prefer to give all my love to God. The freedom I feel on the road, in a car, when no man can stand between me and God. No man can keep up with my super fast virgo schedule. The energy required to think about whether a stranger will reply to you or not, really does not seem very productive at this point. I still cannot decide whether infatuation is divine or satanic. What are your thoughts on this?

On that note - I have recently turned to religion. I would like to introduce you to my newly found collaborator - the shepherd. He has some interesting thoughts to share on the topic of the apocalypse. It might be of benefit to your research. May I send an email where I connect you two?

I am wishing you a prosperous week ahead!

All my very best





12 Feb 2024, 10:42
to Einar

Dear madam sir

I realised I never finished and sent my email to you back in June last year, while I was attending the international reception days in Copenhagen. Hence, I am sending you the email draft here:


Dear madam sir

A burnt out man said alas and it reminded me I need to get back to you.

I apologise for the delay. Lately, I have successively been losing my words. I worry that I am finally becoming a performance artist; awkward, silent, flaky, avoiding eye contact. Constantly on the lookout that someone will notice me and ask "what exactly do you do?" at which moment I will feel deeply attacked, run away and curse the system.

I survived my business trip to Copenhagen. I ate and drank all the free stuff there was. I made some connections. The Bulgarian guy thought everything was bullshit. Pretty much everyone else nodded heads silently. The way your face begins to ache when you fake smile. Many middle aged Danish men began their sentences by saying "in Denmark we are very privileged, how can we help the ones in need?". This usually referred to queer people in Uganda, etc.





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JOURNEY TO HELL, LIBRA EDITION


Sun, 25 Dec 2022, 18:34
to Einar

Dear sir madam

A very merry Christmas to you.

I have not written you in a long time. I regret this, not because I believe you are particularly interested in my daily pursuits, but because I am interested in them, and through you can I access myself. You listening to me is my way to hear myself. I may be codependent, but this is a libra trait and you are an expert at these energies. Despite the conflict avoiding aspect of this zodiac, I hope you make sure to inform me if things become too heavy for you, as I know balance is your ultimate goal. We are both easygoing and strive for equality. Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly. Yet many demons also have wings, and the devil is a fallen angel. The realm of the superficial is the realm we, libras, toil in. Drama is overrated. Crying has to be beautiful, and moderate, yet of course this is merely how we present ourselves to the world. Presenting ourselves to the world is an essential focus in life. It is a pursuit of life. We are masters of the split identity, the dual persona.

For quite some time now, I have been experiencing spiritual descent. My psyche and intellect have not grown, but rather, I have felt as though I am becoming more stupid by the day. It certainly is a strange sight, observing such a real time event happening to oneself. Alas! Self sabotage is so easy to enter, and so much harder to exit. Embracing the libra, loneliness is confusion, I only know who I am in connection with others. Libras love the number 2, the holy duality which creates perfect balance, the middle way. Thus it is a challenge to exist in times when individuality, uniqueness and exaggeration are considered high virtues. As a virgo sun, and my tarot soul card being the hermit, I should be comfortable with solitude, a lonesome wanderer in pursuit of wisdom and sobriety, married only to the divine. These inherent polarities make me eternally dissatisfied - I blame it on the stars. If I embrace my libra aspects, I'll betray the hermit. If I become the lonesome traveler, I'll betray the party girl (the social artist?) my libra deities are asking me to become. Codependece is supposedly an ugly word, yet in this radical individualism, almost everyone has a therapist. Humans a hypocrites. I am still in search of my perpetual pattern. My path.

Where were you last night, as I was "partying" in this shit town; drinking all the shots I was offered, stating that I love alcohol, screaming to the girls that anger is our survival - we need to get loud, we must not forget riot grrrls, getting my anti nationalist views challenged at the table (he, a man from a country with massive current uprisings against the oppressive government, questioned why I should hate my country cause hate is a strong word and I am privileged. I told him I'm an artist and everything I say is an experiment, I guess this is my privilege) then roasting this guy who challenged me, at the cost of any nice vibes existing after that (feeling perplexed and slightly regretful about winning an argument, even if I did not initiate it, it is a dirty feeling, it is scary and power feels wrong in such personal situations, perhaps because it is more bare, I ask myself - am I the reason there is war in the world, should I shut up? As a woman with libra in me, I tend to question my every move), repeatedly screaming at the so called rock n roll bartender in this hipster haven we were at that he has to hire me cause I'm a serious rock girl, getting kicked out as the bar closed, losing my so called friends at the next place, again drinking the shots I was offered, assembling a group of Arabic, Kurdish and Turkish men around me telling them how much I hate my country and how I wish I spoke arabic, one of them kept saying thank you all the time, the other tried to kiss me and spoke about being an ex criminal and now he is good, has a job and does all things right, the third one, the older wiser one, always offering me cigarettes (I think it was his birthday), the last one just talking about LA and how great it is and how he used to live there but now lives here cause of a good job offer, getting kicked out of the second bar when it closed, being denied entry to the toilets by the security guards, peeing in the street in my high heels in minus 10 degrees, feeling like throwing up on the tram back home. The nightmare before christmas perhaps. Where were you, as I was talking to strangers, looking for things I can't explain? To share eyes with someone, is a way for us libra-esque people to feel understood. The body that is a vehicle for one's naked mind dancing freely across the night. We live to talk about it. Alone, talking to strangers remains but a moment, mostly lost to time, detached and therefore meaningless. Remembering something alone and it might as well all have been a dream. Meaning is something that happens in context, that is coproduced, plotted, together.

Libras are good at chatting, emailing, flirting. Cooperation is our middle name. In contrast to this, I actually met the devil in my dream last night, perhaps this was the real nightmare before christmas.

Now follows some reflective analyses from dream realms, I apologise in advance if they bore you, and also for the absence of any conclusion.

While the kids all met daddy Santa claus, I met the devil in a mickey mouse costume, a very ambiguous character indeed. My mom could not see him, but I could, and so could the two little kids, and my friend davide - a capricorn and former black metal satanist. The devil appeared, thin and sly, like a frozen dark omen suspended in midair, in the centre of the room in the shopping mall (or public culture house, not sure). He did not speak, in fact he was frozen like a statue, like a ghost that is stuck between realms, undead and waiting to come to life, but I could feel how he was going to strike any moment, as soon as I would turn my back against him. I knew he had come to see me. Now he was tricking me. He was more powerful than me, and fear would not help. I had to be kind and clever with my words. I ran in circles around the devil, furiously taking notes in my notebook. I don't know what I wrote, some kind of poetry about my encounter with the devil, meanwhile preparing for the violent blow aka wasting time, risking to become trapped forever in his grip.

I did not speak with the devil in my dream. I was waiting for him to open his mouth, which he never did. The silence was deafening. I used the devil as a muse, sensing that in reality, making him my muse is a way for me to ignore him and never face him head on. I am also a trickster, I try to get away all the time and be an artist. The devil feels mistreated, if I am more powerful than him, I better try him. He is going to haunt me til I kneel to him. In hindsight, I realise I think the devil was waiting for me to strike. Ultimately, what was scary was the fact that he never attacked me, so he is this still haunting me. He is my mirror.

How do I know he was the devil? His ghostlike appearance could make us mistake him for death, the grim reaper, but his outfit suggested a sense humor, making him more into a kind of trickster character. Death on the other hand, comes only with relief, death is a kind of god. The devil comes with challenges, he is more worldly therefore, never absolute, an ongoing process. Something about the devil is the challenge of the superficial, how highly unconscious the realm of appearance is. It is a kind of trance like state. This is why I would argue, i encountered the dark side of the libra. Libras appear beautiful on the outside, at the cost of inner beauty. Addiction as the result of the easy going attitude, too much love, the pursuit of pleasure, we can easily fall from the sky. This is why I have acne, the ugly inside comes through no matter how hard I wash the outside. But we do it for the community.

I apologise that these ponderings are incomplete. Clarity is rare, I am still fumbling in the dark. I have many more transmissions to share, but they will have to come another day. Perhaps I need input to make sense of anything, being as I am, a social being. Now I am going to return to eating christmas food. Then I am going to do yoga. Balance is a quest.

Sending you my blessings, dear sir madam. May faith be with you.

Sincerely

Satan's little helper







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THE POSER ARTIST

Tue, 8 Nov 2022, 12:28

I am not the poser artist because I admit not being shit. Yet I am still seen as an artist. My craft is my honesty, my vulnerability. I have been hosted for more than a week in this foreign land and tonight is the night of presentation. I will present my work in progress to the people who have been so kind as to host me and trust me that I will deliver something extraordinary. Dear sir madam, I have no work to show them, for I have not been working. I have been taking think breaks just about all the time. I have been telling myself that I can go up on stage and do nothing and that would be a performance, too, because I analysed 4'33 by john cage in high school (you know, the 4'33 minutes of silence). Truth is I have just been anxious smoking cigarettes every day, losing my yoga routine. I needed a reason to get away from my hometown and my mom's lawsuit. I have been taking refuge in the southern countries where I am known as 'an international artist'.

This may be the end of me. When I'll arise from the ashes, I shall have realised that art was not for me. What do you suggest I do instead?

Maybe I'll work in a zoo.


13:57

Perhaps this moment when one is out of ideas, is the moment when one removes all one's clothes on stage?

I can at least be bold. Saying anything is heresy or propaganda for there is nothing you can know for certain. Let God or Science say it for you.

Art has no place for heart.

I'm making up excuses cause I am a poser. Well at least I'm not the owner of some evil oil company. And I use organic shampoo.


14:22

All I really wanna do is eat.

Yesterday I had no inspiration, so i went to buy pizza. Then I had no inspiration, so I went to buy coca cola. Then I had no inspiration, so i did a meditation. Then i fell asleep.

But truth is, when making solo performances, one has to split oneself up into two people so that one person can be the boss and give the other person orders. This split is not always easily achieved and I for my own part, I find that it is only enabled through severe anxiety. This is why I have not done any work during my so-called artist residency. I am subconsciously yet deliberately putting myself in this position, so that all my panic can culminate and I can hate myself and beat my own ass to the point of bloodshed and maybe then I'll be able to produce something presentable in a few hours. I will have bled. I will have been true.


Art is pain.


14:43

The other truth is that in my confusion I drew a tarot card two days ago and I got the ace of wands. A ghostly hand comes from nowhere and offers me a big powerful magic wand. I have the power. I also call it 'the big dick card'. It so happens to be the case that this wand also represents a drumstick, since drumming is my plan. This message means that i do not have to work, because I have the magic wand, the drumstick. Dear sir, it is better to trust in something other than yourself.


14:46

There are many nice people around yet I feel very lonely. It is because my boss (me) hates me


15:07

I've got 4 hours left in this dirty diy space, then the show must go on.

I check instagram stories.

My former classmate in london is performing in a very royal looking theatre tonight. I thought studying in london would give me royalty, but here I am back in a dirty basement in some former communist country whose language I do not speak.

I replied to my friend's story explaining our current different situations. He replied 'you love a dirty diy space' I replied 'no, the dirty diy space loves me'. In this moment I realised something profound. I go where I am called. I myself, have no calling.


17:15

Before I get up on stage tonight I shall remind myself
Jazz was born from mistakes

There is nothing i can fail at

This is the only attitude


Einar Thorén
8 Nov 2022, 17:19
to me

When looking at it, from a very strictly scientific perspective, you tend to realise that everything, is essentially a very large fuck-up





_______________________________________________________


DADDY


February 25, 2022

My dear sir madam

TRIGGER WARNING (mentions of rape, suicide, guns, warfare, blasphemy + occasional swearing)

It is especially special to hear from you on such a day, in such times.

Words certainly do fail to describe the immensity of world events such as these (happening close to US) though allow me to attempt expression. Please bear in mind, dear sir, that whatever feelings might be transmitted to you through this attempt, come from a rather ill and infectious place in my psyche. However one must make the claim that to feel well or healthy in such times is more ill than feeling ill.

First of all, I would like to respond by stating that change IS the ONLY possibility. But before this statement lies the element of choice. I am expressing my idea aka my personality aka the way to excuse everything I say. Neutrality is also a lie. I do still wonder whether I chose this personality, or whether God did, or whether I am God or whether God is in me.

All I can say these days is - maybe! is - I don't know! is - possibly! I'm bendy, fluid, I do yoga, and as I sit in my yogic squat, I contemplate how this will improve sexual intercourse with that guy who ghosted me. Hip openers, heart openers - teachings of gays, gals, gurus - to strive to become softer, more bendy, flexi, to be touched, to be moved, to be led, to listen. Which is why the world is run by straight men, because they don't. They think muscles improve sex. Their machine body like machine gun. Because they think they know. Because they believe they can open their third eye chakra without first opening their heart chakra. This leads to severe consequences such as techno, shit pornography and Jeff Bezos. All is fake, except your mama. She knows. Mamas know. I would like a world run by mamas.

Putin where's your mama? The world of daddy issues. Trump's son loves his father. American army of daddy issues. During the Trump era truth was uncomfortably in yo face. Many men around me found it hard to believe this truth.

The phallic skyscraper of JP Morgan. I was not allowed in, because no manicure. Because dirty shoes. Because no money. No ID (IDENTITY). Who are people? Robot dreams. Urban Eden. Slay the animal and buy a uniform. Become part of function, harmony. I am wild woman so am danger to it all, the prevailing order. Which is why that guy never replied to me, cause I was SERIOUSly into him that freaked him out cause he only feels until he decides not to feel. Essentially zombie. I KNOW he wanted me but more so he wanted CONTROL.

When the world is ending I love more. I love stronger. I love now.

When the world is ending. Go fuck yourself. No more. Finally go fuck me. Me me me. I want to tell him, the straight wannabe queer hot boy drummer > the only way out is in.

When pandemic began joy division's song isolation came to mind because of its timely topic, but as soon as I listened to it, I asked myself whether Ian Curtis had ever thought of changing the lyrics to "Isolation! Masturbation!". Then again, that might not have been his message. He sang about isolation, though according to the movie called 'Control' he still had sex. And he had two girlfriends. Then he killed himself. Now war has come. When are men gonna learn to fuck for real? Sex = love me or rape me. Sorry to be blunt :( I wrote a poem on the topic:

life is work
sex is work
all is work
and you do it so well.

Now there is war on our continent. Wannabe union has failed. Let me come talk at your conference. Give a presentation on I love dick > worldly issues. Dear sir, seems as tho one has to solve core issues always > hope + ignorance never worked. Poser world. Make words mean something again pls.

Kate Bush sings 'it doesn't hurt me, ye ye ye yo' in an epic modern symphony. Mid 80s was when superstars had the courage to show themselves powerfully vulnerable aka wild and desperate about to totally break apart and die or conquer the whole mthrfckn universe > meanwhile nuclear and gay scare ate their world. Daddy issues are rather ancient though magnified during technocratic times. Since when did cool become chill? What will change now that the masses shall no longer pretend their world is a safe place? Back to another normal > ADHDism > let's ALL BREAK APART?

Let us measure world improvements since Nietzsche stated that god was dead. I currently find myself riding through an urban landscape of abbriviated code names such as HSBC, JP MORGAN, NORTHERN TRUST and other phallic structures made of reflective glass aiming not to reveal their inside but rather to penetrate the sky and inform us of our postmodern God. Soon they will go to live and levitate above the planet, claiming there is no such thing as religion, while secretly, finally achieving their desire to be angels. I'd rather roll around in the mud, which makes me essentially satan. Dirty rebel of the underworld (dirty underdog? Is satan an underdog?). There is also the likelihood that the entire planet is soon to be a lake of fire. We finally descended to hell. Perhaps satanism has lessons for us all? Though I must say - I unfortunately do not find them very fashionable, but then again, everything can change.

If there is anything positive with situations worsening, it might be that people will stop listening to spoiled kids sharing boring conspiracy theories on Facebook.

O my dear madam sir, I will say it once more, I do not know, which is to say - the future is yet to be decided. If there is a God, then I assume their spirit is a passive one, patiently waiting for the boys to come home and say sorry. If only Kate Bush could have swapped places with God. My housemate says Kate Bush is crazy. He also says the middle ages were darker times than now. I guess I know as little as he does to confirm this - however, what I would like to know is why this matters to us now? Is it a desire for optimism (which in this case I would refer to as hope + ignorance) or is it exclusion of alternatives i.e. this is at least better than that? Daddy daddy daddy it might all be the same to me, to the animals and to Kate Bush.

Do not victimise me and my fellow animals, but become me instead. Listen and bend into me me ME > downward dog, cat cow, horse, pigeon, cobra. Let us take over the streets.

Until soon my dear madam sir.

Sincerely yours,

Madam Vida



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VOYAGES IN THE DREAM REALM


February 1, 2022

dear sir madam

how splendid to hear from you, dear mister sir. you truly are a sir I deeply revere.

Since imagination does not exist in this city I am currently a resident in, I take refuge in my dream world every night. Thus, I ask you, dear mr sir, to allow me to share with you some of my recent voyages in the dream realm. Dreams might be rather odd and intimate compared to waking life, hence I certainly hope you will not feel offended by this.

Perhaps I shall issue a trigger warning as following themes might occur; racism, blood, violence, animal abuse

Dream #1

a gorgeous black man (similar to morpheus in matrix) was naked in a small white room where i had placed him on the bed and I think we were meant to be lovers in my film project. i thought about how sexy he was, but there was nothing sexual about the dream - it was conceptual. there was a camera, and i was watching us both through the camera. the man was an object. maybe i was too. it was anti physical, anti-emotional.

This leads me to think about how my subconscious is speaking to me about the fact that my consciousness is dominating my subconsciousness. i'm assuming art education, for this very reason, is the utmost unsexy subject one could possibly study, as it makes one question everything from above without touch. My dear sir, how i miss ignorance..... to comment further, I am going to propose that perhaps sexiness lives in failure? sexiness, therefore, equals vulnerability? Thus, i may try to make my whole life about failure, be a sexy loser, which is why the internet hates me, until the day i embrace the internet realm and make it my success, and then the internet shall love me, but i shall hate myself. I am eternal opposer it seems. Please cure me.

Dream #2

After being nice and cooking for some people, one of them is planning to kill me and everyone around me gives me painkillers so that it won't hurt. I get angry and say I can't just accept dying and walk away trying to find the nearest bus stop that will get me to work on time.

Dream #3

As a result of someone not believing in my witchcraft (it was more like someone rolling their eyes at the fact that i spoke about past life regression and having been a plant medicine water woman (?)) I took it out on the cat I was babysitting, I was annoyed yelling at the cat and patting it violently and the cat got scared of course and I felt sooooo bad

Dream #4

I felt sick and had to blow my nose. Out came a flood of blood. I still had to work. I was a musician in a very modern environment. I had to carry all my large and heavy instruments around and there was no inspiration. Then I came to paradise which was a tropical beach at sunset. I received lots of hugs from people who might have noticed I needed love but it really bothered me that all people were couples, there with their partners and so paradise made me feel shit cause I didn't really fit.


Please do allow these dreams to speak for me as my current circumstances make me an utterly lost human being, needing to dedicate most of my waking hours to administrative matters in the same city where karl marx wrote das kapital.

All the best to you and your endeavours.

With love and compassion, til we speak again

Madam Vida