– feeds your head
There are some things that I will just never be able to understand. One of these is homophobia. I really and honestly do not understand it. And I am not talking about the various cultural and psychological reasons that are generally used to explain this phenomena, or abomination if we want to be a bit more precise, I get those. I understand what they are trying to get at when religion is brought into the picture and I understand what the whole threat to established gender identities theory is about. What I don’t understand is why anyone even cares in the first place. Why does it matter? How can it be that important what gender people are attracted to? Why on earth does anyone bother to care about that? Why is that particular preference given such a determining value?
I was reading a blog post by a mother whose son dressed up in a woman’s outfit for halloween and how that caused people to express a concern that he might grow up to be gay. Say what?! Apart from the fact that I really can’t see any issue what so ever with someone being gay, why would dressing up in women’s clothing make someone gay? How the hell would that causality work? It’s just beyond stupid. You don’t become gay, you are gay. Just like you are straight. Or bisexual. And gender identity has very little to do with that. A gay man is no less male than a straight man, just like a lesbian is no less female than a straight woman. Your gender or sexuality is not tied to your level of masculinity or femininity. But this line of reasoning does put focus on the problem of gender identity itself. Why is it so important that a boy sticks to the attributes assigned to his male gender? Why does him dressing up as a girl become such an issue? And why is the immediate fear that he’ll grow up to be gay? Why is the transcending of the gender roles perceived such a big threat even when it’s a 5-year-old boy doing it? Read more of this post
In India you see a lot of people wearing so-called traditional clothes. Colorful saris, salwar kameez, dhoti, lungi and kurta. Especially in the villages, there you see very few women wearing western style clothes. Men yes, but women no. Women wearing jeans is one of the best tell-tale signs that you are in a city. I made a casual observation about this:
“I suppose now we are in a city. You see a lot more women in western clothing here.”
“Yes, but I think it’s a shame when they give up the traditional style. The saris are so much more beautiful.”
I didn’t say anything because I’m not sure I agree. Of course the saris are beautiful, but what do they really represent? Is it really a free choice? And if so, how come you see more women making the choice to stick to the traditional clothes? Not just in India, but all over the world. How come women always seem to be the ones that have to carry the traditions? I also think the traditional women’s clothes in India are beautiful but it’s not really a relevant argument or point in this context. Especially not if you follow the observation through on a more global level. A burqa isn’t beautiful. A burqa is a prison that hinders your movements and deprives you of sensory input. The sensory deprivation isn’t applicable for a sari, but it does hinder your movements. Then again, so does high heels. Read more of this post
“Just start from the beginning.”
“What beginning?”
I hate that look. That look of understanding. They all have it. Like a mixture of pity and greed. A glow in their eyes. They think they can understand. That if they understand me enough I will be cured. Fixed. That’s all they want, to fix me. I am a danger to society and a danger to myself. I’ve got that in writing. I think they are more worried about society than me though. No way they locked me up to save me from myself. That would mean they cared. That they actually gave a shit about me, and they don’t. That’s why I hate that look. Because they don’t really want to understand. They don’t even want to see.
“Well, what ever beginning you want to start with.”
“I can’t say I want to start at any beginning. Just tell me what you want to know man.”
“I want to know about you. Where you are coming from.”
“What the hell for? Just ask me what you want to know, ok? I’ll answer.” Read more of this post
We sit down on the stairs. It’s just him and me now. No one else around. And I know this will lead to something I don’t really want. I know I shouldn’t be here. I should go. But I don’t. I stay. We talk. At first. It’s like waiting for the inevitable. He asks me things about me. Things I don’t really want to tell. So many questions. As if he cared. As if he wanted to crawl under my skin. As if he really wanted to know me. This, is making me seriously uncomfortable. This, is making me want to tell him to just shut up. This, is not part of the game.
Then, when he leans closer, it almost comes as a relief. I know this. This I can do, this is familiar. Now I understand what he wants. Now it’s simple. His arm around me. His hand on my cheek. He caresses it gently. Too gently. He whispers something I can’t hear and he looks at me. I can’t meet his gaze. I close my eyes and wait. I wait for what I know will come. Step one: he kisses me. Step two: he touches my breasts. Step three: he asks me to come to his room. And from there it goes fast. Step four five and six. All part of the pattern. Beginning to end. A to Z.
Step one. I feel his breath on my cheek. It smells of alcohol. I feel his lips on mine. Surprisingly soft. Then he parts them, ever so slightly. I know what will happen next, what is expected of me. I part my lips, do what I am supposed to. His tongue in my mouth, his hand in my hair. He starts to breathe heavier, kiss harder. So I do too. Because that’s what is expected of me now. In this situation that’s what you do. Step one. Read more of this post
For the past two weeks I have been participating, involuntarily, in a course about how to apply for jobs. I already know how to apply for a job, so that part of the course is a complete waste of time, but I am getting loads of insights to the wonder that is the human psyche. Just now I had following conversation down in the lobby by the elevators:
“Hi I’m the janitor. Where are you going?”
“To the 4th floor.”
“Are you a participant in the course?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you have to take the stairs.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s the way it is. It’s the rule. Says so on the sign there.”
I looked at him in disbelief and then I looked at the completely deserted lobby. There was really no one else around. The course is taking place in a high-rise building with a multitude of activities happening on the various floors. Office space, a kindergarten, various school type activities etc, so there are times when the elevators are very busy. At those times it does of course make sense to have a rule that says that the people higher up in the building, or the parents with their kids, have right of way to the elevator. But at this particular time the lobby was deserted. No one in sight. But the janitor was still sticking to his point – I should take the stairs. He even went as far as to say that he wanted to see me do that. I contemplated telling him that wouldn’t really be possible since he was actually standing in the elevator as we were having this conversation and the stairs are located in a separate entrance, but then I decided against it seeing as the likelihood of it being a very fruitful discussion was virtually zero. I waited him out and then took the elevator. Read more of this post
Why do some musicians get worse instead of better? I have stated this as one of the great mysteries in life, and in a way it actually is. At least it’s something that I have spent quite a lot of time thinking about and discussing with my friends. It really puzzles me. How can you have a downward curve in your development as a musician? It just seems bizarre. I mean skills should improve with practice – practice makes perfect, right? Well in some cases, wrong. And why is that?
In a lot of those discussions we have come to the conclusion that it has to do with guts, bravery, staying true to yourself. And I think we’re actually on to something here. If you have a certain amount of success with an album you naturally want to repeat that success with the next album and in some cases musicians then decide to play it safe and just deliver more of the same. But art isn’t really about producing more of the same. Art is about exploration. And when you opt for the same approach the likelihood of creating something interesting drastically diminishes. Art has an evolutionary aspect in that sense, it has to keep developing in order to not grow stale and superfluous. Sticking with the known is rarely a good idea when it comes to art. Read more of this post
“Oh, please don’t make me despise you.” I find myself thinking that more often than I would like. About men I thought I liked. Men I though were cool. Men where I saw friendship potential.
“Oh, please don’t make me despise you.” But he does. They almost always do. Why is that? You see an advance coming, you decline in a nice and polite way. A respectful way, a way that let’s them save face. You give them a really nice,hassle free exit, but they don’t take it. Why is that? I just don’t get it. Why do nice, sensible, intelligent, socially capable, intellectual men turn into irrational, despicable troglodytes? How does that happen? I really don’t get it. Men who are able to make intelligent and rational decisions and who are capable of highly sophisticated argumentation and analysis all of a sudden lose all capability of critical thinking and reason. How is that even possible? Or rather: how can you be so nice and still be an asshole? Read more of this post
full moon
shadow play
on the wall
your face
and me
it is much too late
words
almost at an end
darkness
like velvet
a question
lingering like smoke
echoing in the air
what was it I said?
what was it you asked?
it gets lonelier still
and tears
glimmer in moonlight
I know this
now
like being trapped
must be the shadows
must be the moon
must be me
I am greedy when it comes to art. Very greedy and very curious. If I like something I always want more. This presents itself in what can only be described as gluttony. I will devour everything the artist has done. Be it paintings, books or songs. I want to take it all in. I am not a collector in the sense that I need to own it all, for me it’s all about the experience. I don’t mind if I only have the music as mp3 or if I borrow the book from a friend or see a painting at a gallery. The important thing is that I do get to experience it somehow. All of it. Particularly when it comes to music and literature, my two biggest passions. There I will get completely obsessive. I will read all the books and listen to all the recordings that exist. I will dig my way through the entire body of work. Passionately. But not blindly. When it comes to art I don’t believe in unconditional love. Even the most talented people will do things that aren’t brilliant. And people develop. Sometimes in a good way, other times in a not so good way. Very few people manage to present a body of work that’s amazing all the way through. There are some, but they are not many. And of those, most are dead. Read more of this post
Some moments in life are weirder than others. Moments that just seem overloaded with symbolism and meaning, stand out like technicolor in a black and white movie. Scenes that just get etched into your retina. Like little clips you can play in your head again and again until you’re almost not sure if they are true, if it really happened like that, because it all just seems so surreal. Almost. Because reality is always stranger than fiction. And a lot more cliché.
I had a moment like that. Years ago. And that moment has been haunting me from time to time ever since. A moment so surreal that it really felt like being in a movie. A moment that had me looking for hidden cameras. At the time I was having a ridiculously complicated affair with this guy, a musician. And we’re sitting on a bench, in Paris of all places, talking about what to do with the mess that is our affair. Read more of this post
jc.tryps 