lørdag den 29. juli 2017

The Clown

The Clown turned his powdered face to the mirror,
   "If to be fair is to be beautiful," he said, "who can compare with me in my white mask?"
   "Who can compare with him in his white mask?" I asked Death beside me.
   "Who can compare with me?" said Death, "for I am paler still."
   "You are very beautiful," sighed the Clown, turning his powdered face from the mirror.

- Robert W. Chambers, The King in Yellow.

The King in Yellow is a collection of short stories, first published in 1895. The title references a lost play, which is said to be of such a poisonous nature, that anyone who reads it, or meets its protagonist must die. The King wears a crown of cheap deceit, a cape of yellow, the miscoloured skin of jaundice, or the flesh of the already dead. He comes with insanity and despair, and he kills off any and all signs of love. To meet the king in yellow is to get the joke, and meet the horror of pointless flesh that is already always rotting on our bones.
Some say he is an angel and the book is the lost, and final part of the old biblical scrolls.

original front page illustration by Chambers

onsdag den 21. juni 2017

"Pan, traditionally, presides over dreams, especially erotic dream and the nightmare. A decline in dreaming will be further evidence of Pan's demise."
- T. Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume 

søndag den 18. juni 2017

Det sker lidt andre steder lige nu...

Læs min artikel "Morality and Taxidermy in Art: Between the Monstrous and the Beautiful" på Culturised her.

Teaser:
"If a sculpture like Paradise is the product of wrongdoing, is it wrong itself? And does it even matter if it is? It isn’t necessarily the case that art should be morally good – returning to earlier historical times, it often wasn’t made for reasons we today would define as especially selfless or righteous – but for art to sell, it certainly seems it must at least look like it is."

torsdag den 4. maj 2017

...

This is a new type of being in love. In my first months of discovering you, you became a flickering light, an increasing compulsion to stray from the lines, a craving for ice cream with honeyed almonds. You were building curiosity, excitement, and the joy of a secret yet to be revealed. I fell into you a bit like I imagine one falls into psychosis; without realizing it at first, and then discovering and having to somehow deal with the complete reorganisation of reality. Before, I never knew that there were sharks living behind bathroom mirrors, but now that I had seen them, there really was no denying them. With you in it, the world was made anew as it had always been. There was fear and struggle, but ultimately it was never a question - of course I had to love you.

This time it's different. This is the second stage of insanity. This is where I start to forget which parts of the mess of glass and wing-dust and gentle electric currents are you and which are me. It isn't really important to me either, for it isn't about falling anymore. I accept now that the sharks are probably just a result of brain signals gone haywire for biological reasons, the reproduction of the species, etc, but just as an adult who has come to realise that God is mostly made in man's image and still chooses to believe, I don't care about that. I like those sharks. I like you. From a stage of becoming we have moved into being, and it's just as exciting, just as rich. This is about rising.

torsdag den 27. april 2017

"'I have been loved,' she said, 'by something strange, and it has forgotten me.'" 
... 
"the night has been going on for a long time."
 - Djuna Barnes, Nightwood (1936)
Soey Milk: "Earthlings." Oil and twigs on canvas, 2015.

Recently been dreaming of another love, eyes meeting across a room, black, short curls, and a dance. "I can't lead," but she doesn't mind. Blaming Doctor Who and the girl with a star in her eye. Be careful with your culture consumption. 

tirsdag den 25. april 2017

[Update]

Jeg er lige blevet færdig med at gennemspille Orwell, hvor jeg var ret ensidigt på den totalitære stats side, også til sidst. I virkeligheden har jeg altid været imod demokratiet, men det er en sådan lidt provokerende ting at sige. Jeg er for teknokrati. Det kan man vist efterhånden godt forstå. Det er et godt spil, hvis man er til tekstbaserede oplevelser. Det får måske 4 stjerner ud af 6 for at være provokerende og pænt.

Mit liv ellers er ret kedeligt optaget af private gøremål og en masse sygdom. Følelsesarbejde. Planlægning af hvordan og med hvem jeg vil leve. 5-års planer og sådan. Det gider jeg ikke skrive om, privatlivet er generelt rigeligt overeksponeret og begynder at være uinteressant. Måske vi ser en ny bølge snart? Postindividualiseringssamfund? Jeg mener stadig, at følelsernes æstetik er magtfuld, men der skal ligesom være tale om sublimering af en art. Det almenmenneskelige må fylde mere end det specifikke, hvis vi skal gøre os håb om at knytte bånd til eftertiden.

Savner akademia. 

mandag den 3. april 2017

Kritik

Dagens menneskeideal er det gennemskinnelige, autentiske, ærlige og ikke mindst politisk korrekte subjekt, der intet har at skjule og intet skjuler. Jeg står frem med mine holdninger og for samfundets bedste kalder jeg også dig ud på dine [the act of calling out], uagtet om du bekender dig til dem eller ej. For at være på den sikre side bedriver jeg dybdeborende diskursanalyse med fokus på værst mulige fortolkning hver gang du taler. Vi vil leve i gyldne tider. Vi vil frihed og ikke-objektiv skønhed. Vi vil stå frem som individer af en kommende æra og som allierede i en kamp mod systemer, det være sig kapitalisme eller køn. Vi er kunstnere, vi eksperimenterer med os selv og skaber ny systemer. Vi er venstreorienterede. Vi er kultur-i-udvikling. Vi er morgendagen. Vi er stolte. Vi er rene. Vi er forenede og samtidig unikke.

Man må gerne slå nazister. På samme vis kalder jeg dig frem i lyset og påpeger dine fejl for fællesskabet på Facebook. Du er ikke (længere) en af de allierede. Din opførsel er problematisk. Jeg er ikke interesseret i hvad du egentlig mener, men det kunne læses negativt. Din statusopdatering er forkert ift. konsensus, den afslører racistiske, sexistiske undertoner. Jeg bliver måske selv lidt praktiserende fascist når jeg erklærer mig tilhænger af overvågningssamfundet og melder dine immanent manifesterede endnu-ej-begåede fejl til mine uofficielle overordnede i utopiens tjeneste, men det er ikke mig, vi taler om. 

Det er heller ikke bare det, du gør, der er forkert. Det er den, du er. Din maskulinitet er giftig [toxic], men du kan ikke undslippe den så længe du stadig performer dit køn (interessant nok, gælder det også for femininiteten, der er blevet ødelagt af the male gaze). Den er en del af dit kød indtil den dag, du deler den fra dig selv og udpeger den som ulækker/abjekt. De hellige identiteter er kønløse eller udfordrer køn. Offeret er idealet for i dag: Hvorfor forbrydelsen ikke længere er forbundet statslig lov, men social.

I næste sekund, jeg har nu sænket min pegefinger fra dens antiobjektificering af dig, løfter jeg hånden igen for at pege på min transseksuelle veninde, der måske egentlig helst bare vil være min veninde, men det er ikke hendes valg, så jeg kan erklære min renhed gennem hendes transcendente kød. Vi er ét, hun og jeg, for jeg fejrer hendes kampe ved at kalde dem frem, hvorved jeg får del i hendes glorie. Jeg mærker ikke vægten af nogen af hendes udfordringer, men ved at bore i hendes stigmata, får jeg hendes blod på min hud og bliver selv hellig. Du siger, at hun er et menneske som alle andre, men du bør tie, for du er blændet af dine privilegier.

Erklær: "jeg har erkendt mine fejl og er nu en anden" og du kan blive som os. Erklær det ikke kun med ord, men med gerninger. Operer på din identitet, skær skidtet ud og erstat det med skam. Dit jeg er nu ét med kollektivet. Beskær også i dine relationer. Morgendagen er nær. Lyset tilhører os alle. Forstå: vi er forenede af kontrasten til de Andre, der endnu er udøvende undertrykkere.

Jeg påpeger: der findes ikke rene mennesker. Den, der begår destruktive gerninger, ser dem ofte selv som undtagelser eller frihedskamp frem for terrorisme. Der findes ikke den, der ikke har fejlet. Du bliver ikke et renere menneske af, at trække en anden frem i lyset og påpege hans fejl. Det ser blot sådan ud.

Det her er, når sammenlignet, et mindre interessant aspekt af venstrefløjens kamp for lighed, der hvert øjeblik er uvigtigt i forhold til overgreb og vold. Ikke desto mindre kan det beskrives som en bevægelse, der støt tager til: venstrefløjens angreb på sig selv, slangen, der fortærer sin egen hale, feministen, der kalder sin søster en slut og sin bror en født forbryder. 

onsdag den 22. marts 2017

Each city decided on their own how they would deal with the flood. When we came to this area, it looked too good to be true. We could even hear children laughing. It turns out, they made a deal. They gave up half of everything they had to save the rest. When you look around you just right, you can see the movements in the surface of the yellow water covering rugs and livingrooms. You can see their spouses and neighbours still lying there, rotting just under the surface.

søndag den 12. marts 2017

It's another the end of life as we know it. Panorama from above, you see the citys many skyskrapers still lighted up by people working hard, but there are fewer of them. They are the lucky, the ones with connections who manage to make a profit on the many deaths of their neighbours. Most of the offices are empty, windows smashed in by wind or broken from inside by attempts to escape. Most of them are dark.

The cult of the angels is led by my father who has now become a holy man. He can save twice as many people from above as any effort on the ground. The downside to the wings is a strong desire for human meat, but he denies himself and all his followers out of purity. The sense of good is strong in him. He doesn't know that his generals share the bounty of living bodies, their victims-recently-saved, with all of his crew after nightfall. He doesn't see.

All the animals are gone. They went wild with fury and ate each other regardless of former diets. Horses feasting on dogs felt to us like a manifested sign of hell on earth in those first days. Now the world belongs truly to the humans in the final battle for the survival of the fittest. Darwinism taken to its ultimate conclusion. The earth has turned against us. Massive landmasses move across the globe without warning. Lavastreams form and chase its running prey mindlessly. Storms pull out trees, that are hundreds of years old, by their roots.

Yet. You and I are still here.

onsdag den 8. marts 2017

In a landscape that mostly consists of dry, yellowing grass fields and a few gatherings of trees, stories come to life and sometimes hunt you.
I hide in the water beneath the lilies and try not to breathe, shielding myself in remnants from Ende and Lindgren: the innocent poetries of childhood. Soon they will come running over the bridge, so i try not to exist. I try mimicking just another fiction.