I look at you and you look at me

polaroidguitarsLyrics by Nick Cave.


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Max Frisch Fragebogen/Questionnaire VII – Friendship

My translation.



1. Do you feel that you are a good friend?

2. What would you consider betrayal:

a. when the other is betraying you?

b. when you do it?

3. How many friends do you have at the moment?

4. Do you consider the length of a friendship an indication for its value?

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Owen Jones: Chavs. The Demonization of the Working Class

Demonization is the flagrant triumphalism of the rich who, no longer challenged by those below them, instead point and laugh at them…

Published in Germany July 2012…


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Rodin.La Main de Dieu.Hand of God.

My spirit is too weak—mortality
   Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep
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Alice B. Toklas and the Bell Jar

This will be the first article in a series of gender studies related essays.


The search for an artistic identity in the realms of gender identification in
Gertrude Stein’s The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas and
Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar

Judith Butler states that gender is not a matter of choice, but a construct resulting out of the repetition of norms:

Femininity is thus not the product of a choice, but the forcible citation of a norm, one whose complex historicity is indissociable from relations of discipline, regulation, punishment. Indeed, there is no ‘one’ who takes on a gender norm. On the contrary, this citation of the gender norm is necessary in order to qualify as a ‘one,’ to become viable as a ‘one,’ where subject-formation is dependent on the prior operation of legitimating gender norms.[1]

Following these assumptions, it seems questionable how it could be possible, or necessary, to find and define one’s gender and what kind of gender classification is dominant in a particular society during a certain time period. The following essay will examine to which conclusions the attempt to reconcile one’s gender and therefore identity comes and which problems occur when gender is classified and femininity and masculinity are placed in binary oppositions. In general, identities are more an open process than fixed constructs and the self, as “nothing more than a series of actions”[2] is referring to established ideas of gender (in various ways) and sets up identity through performance. Butler stresses that

in no sense can it be concluded that the part of gender that is performed is therefore the ‘truth’ of gender; performance as bounded ‘act’ is distinguished from performativity insofar as the latter consists in a reiteration of norms which precede, constrain, and exceed the performer and in that sense cannot be taken as the fabrication of the performer’s ‘will’ or ‘choice’; further, what is ‘performed’ works to conceal, if not disavow, what remains opaque, unconscious, unperformable. The reduction of performativity to performance would be a mistake.[3]

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“You shall leave everything you love most dearly:
this is the arrow that the bow of exile
shoots first. You are to know the bitter taste

of others’ bread, how salt it is, and know
how hard a path it is for one who goes
descending and ascending others’ stairs.”

Dante. Paradiso.Canto XVII. 55–60.

Pictures: Yayoi Kusama.

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All that has dark sounds has duende. And there’s no deeper truth than that.

Those dark sounds are the mystery, the roots that cling to the mire that we all know, that we all ignore, but from which comes the very substance of art….

A mysterious force that everyone feels and no philosopher has explained.

So, then, the duende is a force not a labour, a struggle not a thought….

Reject the angel, and give the Muse a kick, and forget our fear of the scent of violets that eighteenth century poetry breathes out, and of the great telescope in whose lenses the Muse, made ill by limitation, sleeps.

The true struggle is with the duende….

We only know it burns the blood like powdered glass, that it exhausts, rejects all the sweet geometry we understand….

Where is the duende? Through the empty archway a wind of the spirit enters, blowing insistently over the heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and unknown accents: a wind with the odour of a child’s saliva, crushed grass, and medusa’s veil, announcing the endless baptism of freshly created things.

Federico Garcia Lorca.Duende.

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