Weapon of Choice

February 01, 2025

By Zaar Riisberg

This piece grew out of an effort to try and write down what living with visceral pain is like. I am part of an art project that tries to shed light on chronic pain. Two of the participants have dealt with inflammatory pain, but do not know how the other side lives. So this is dedicated to Daniela Zolezzi and Lasse Fischer.

The Uninvited Guest

I suffer from osteoarthritis spreading to all my joints from a trauma. Living with chronic, visceral pain is like living with someone you really don’t like. I know rheumatic pain, this is way worse. You don’t know when, you don’t know how much or for how long and you know there’s no respite. With inflammatory pain, I knew it would stop if I just got to the apothecary - or I knew that in the end I’d just pass out from exhaustion. Osteo doesn’t make you pass out, it makes sure you can’t sleep instead. It’s grinding, it’s violent….it feels like getting stabbed or cut.

The pain surges in the feet are as weird as they are violent. It feels as if someone pressures downward with a scalpel and at the same time there’s a sensation as if the bone is being bent. I’ve noticed that my brain forgets the exact way pain plays out, so I’m writing this as it happens. This is neural, I guess - and probably a good thing. I heard the same sentiment from my friend Anette. She knows she’s been crying, she knows it was horrible, she knows she dragged herself into the city and back. But can never recall exactly how it was painful - neither can I. Focusing on the hell that it is or trying to understand it doesn’t help, it makes it worse as it amplifies the pain you’re trying to ignore. Visceral is most likely the best word to describe the feeling, because….vicious, violent, vile.

Absence of Beauty

I am part of an art project called The Pain Catalog, and my contributions are quite frankly void of any beauty or real aesthetic. But that is osteoarthritis. That is why some parts of the project don't make sense to me. Like when pain strikes for a longer time, my fists clench and the knuckles go bone white. Or I rub my hands together. So colored, gradual pain charts are a mystery to me. There’s no upside to it, it’s just ugly. I toned my works down as the reality of it is absolute horror. This would break even Cthulhu. There’s no bright side and you end up more and more alone, because people cannot relate, not even others living with chronic pain. No respite and it being bone gnawing, just leaves you estranged to almost everyone in a certain way, even my mom, even my best friends. I see they care, but they don’t know. They can’t know and I’m glad they don’t. A significant other becomes a distant idea - because, how do you invite someone into this hellish realm that I live in? And at the end of the day, there are no guarantees, so you might invite more problems in.

Fallen on Deaf Ears

But something is bothering me about the perception of osteoarthritis - or should I say the myths - and I wish the medical profession would listen. One thing is, that it’s not always about how many degrees we’re having. I had two months during the winter that were pretty good and in comparison my 2023 was a living hell during spring and summer. It’s about humidity, pressure (weather wise), temperature fluctuations and osteoarthritis doesn’t give a flying fuck if it is summer or winter. The pressure thing isn’t a surprise to me - I mean, if you have a sprained ankle you don’t want to go on an airplane (unless you’re a masochist).

But generally, I feel the medical profession has abandoned us with a ‘too bad’. My doctor even admits that there is a lot about osteoarthritis pain they don’t understand. Calling it ‘the mildest form of arthritis we have’ fills me with anger. It’s a clueless, ignorant statement that just really acknowledges that we might as well be lepers. It seems fertility and other areas are more interesting to the medical profession. And you can see why, I mean, 8 billion people clearly isn't enough. Am I generalizing? Indeed. What else would you have me do? The government in Denmark proposed packages for the chronically ill - guess which disease wasn’t included?

I saw some colors at the train station, but struggled with the phone. Very bad day. Fingers fucked, feet fucked, everything fucked. As I looked at the tilted mess, I realised that the visual representation echoed how my point of view of the world felt: skewed, tilted, out of focus - yet, strangely mesmerizing. Photo: Zaar Riisberg

Collagen, CBD, Doodedoooooo

Lastly, osteoarthritis in severe cases like mine doesn’t let up. I am always in pain and discomfort one way or the other - abstraction is the only real medicine there is. Well, morphine helps me, so does hard alcohol. But if I go down that road, I might as well make arrangements for an early grave. It pisses me off to a great extent that if the usual painkillers don’t work, all a medical professional will say is ‘exercise’. If the weather/climate decides to fuck over my knee and give me swaths of pain surges in the feet - then nature WILL do that regardless of how many hours I spend in the gym, on a bike or indeed walking. At the moment I am at my mother’s place. I have been here for a week, and basically can’t return to my flat, because pain shoots through my right knee when I walk or put just a little pressure on it. And just for the record, I do excercise. But in my case, all that helps is hardcore crossfit - and the two first hours of a day feels like my body is broken. I only feel somewhat well after a really hard workout.

CBD does help as it unstresses you somewhat and gives you maybe a little more sleep during the night. Collagen might be working, but due to the volume of stuff I am fighting, I really can’t tell, I am just guessing. I’ve accepted that we are the modern lepers, at least we are not sent to a remote island, and my skin is great. So there is that.

20+ below? Fuck my feet. 4-5 km in frost and thick snow. But how else would I get these shots? Photo: Zaar Riisberg

The arrogance the medical profession has toward osteoarthritis is stunning and is based on ignorance and incompetence. I would be willing and have been to let them cut me up, prod me, test me etc. Instead, I’m fed placebo bullshit, myths, lines - I mean, I’m not the one inhaling the copium here - the doctors are.

I gathered all my chips and put them all on crossfit. It works, but it’s becoming clear to me that I have to do hard workouts every day and the first few hours of my day I feel like a 90 year old. I have days where I really don’t feel well unless I’m doing something active. Most days, really.

The article was written over the space of a year osteoarthritis is just a wild ride when you choose to fight it. I spent momths at my moms house hitting her garden and the gym, garnered with long bike rides. I am finally achieving getting some of my life back. But the pain and the weather will always be there - climate change might mean a lot to you. Guess how I feel about the topic?

People have to pick their weapon of choice when combatting chronic illness and pain. Mine -evidently- is defiance.

Onwards, Upwards // Photo: Zaar Riisberg

Zaar Riisberg // Streets of Aalborg

November 13, 2024

Zaar Riisberg (Zaarchasm) // La Decima?

June 13, 2023

Unlucky? Who knows. It's one thing to fall out of the tree. It's quite another to subsequently hit every branch on the way down. People will talk endlessly about their luck, yet, there is no such thing. You can try to premeditate and plan, but coincidence will ultimately rule your life - shit doesn't excuse itself, it just happens. Luck is a stupid concept, just like destiny or ‘god’. It’s all random, it’s all potential - so when life deals you 10 years of hardship, it’s easy to become paranoid. But hey, I might stop at 9. It doesn’t matter, all you need is Kafka and math. I mean you will be lost. But at least you won’t panic when the men in gray knock on your door, or hide behind the sofa when Apophis comes around for a second swing of a cosmic drive by. It might miss, mind you - like I said, it’s all potential. Coincidences put us beyond good and evil. There is salvation in that.

I had to put all projects on standby, I had to give up a few jobs. At the same time, I have watched the world catch fire and everything I enjoyed about it, turn to absolute shit. Who is not in dire straits right now? No one. You would have to be on another planet. Maybe Elon Musk or Richard Branson can help you - chances are they will make like a balloon and fly around in fart circles, until they inevitably collapse in the corner, void of energy and potency. Weightless, for 5 minutes, floating through space like the turds they are. It is quite a thing to see Musk being called a genius. All he ever says he has from real scientists. Some need a filter, apparently - why they chose complete assholes like Musk. Who the fuck knows? I see no real difference between him and Donald Trump.

So why not embrace fatalism - is this really a world worth saving? I mean, I have been told enough times in my life to ‘get lost’, and man, there are so many ways to get lost...

The Copium Carousel

As if my mug wasn't ugly enough. I made the choice to self medicate using a substance I had previously railed against. Alcohol. Perhaps, the most prolific weapon of mass destruction civilization has ever created. Why? Pain, isolation, boredom. Mind you, I would have been isolated without covid. Since spring 21, it just got worse and worse. Nasty pain spikes, fatigue, stress. Arthritis in the knee and both feet is a total shitshow, and because you walk 'wrong', your groin and back starts telling you you're an idiot on a daily basis.

When you have no respite regarding pain, alcohol quickly becomes a daily thing. Hard liquor. They wanted to screen me for depression. I told them I would throw that bottle in the ditch, from one day to another. I have an iron will. These nanny states some of us live in, have a tendency to make you forget who you really are and what you are capable of. I told myself. Except this time, I went back into the ditch and brought the bottle home. Severe, chronic pain changes everything. It’s always there, It’s always a possibility - and sometimes, you just want peace. The other thing that works is abstraction and focussing on others. Alcohol remains the easiest of the two, which fills me with sadness to no end. I made my peace with the universe long ago, whatever happens. But it pains me to see that in the 47 years I’ve been on this planet, nothing has changed at the core.

All of this started in 2014 and started with people turning my life to shit - when I got up from that, arthritis ripped through my life. So will it be 10 years? I have no idea and I am pretty sure I don’t care anymore. Two months ago I carried my dad’s urn on his final journey after doctors completely botched catching his cancer. At least he has peace now. Me, I’m in the 7th in a 15 round bout. But I promised my dad I would make something of myself again - a promise I am hell bent on keeping.

Come with me?

Lasse Fischer // A Midweek Shopping Experience

June 06, 2023

He jerked his head back and looked up from his phone. There was something that hadn’t been there before. He looked around the store. Shoppers were browsing the racks, sliding through the clothing with blank stares, suddenly pausing before sliding the item of clothing to the right and moving on to the next rack. The cream-colored walls were sprawling with aesthetically pleasing pictures of flowers and young women clothed in the designs hanging from the racks, laughing at each other. ‘Warmth’, ‘Don’t worry’, and ‘Summer Vibes’ were spelled out in lightbulbs on the wall opposite to him and were reflected countless times in the many mirrors in the store. An upbeat melody of smooth, soothing bass, snare and saxophone filled the gaps between the shoppers, displays, and racks. But none of those things had made him put his phone down. There was a slight buzzing, no not buzzing, something else, coming from somewhere in the store. He stood up from the steel blue velour couch and listened. He couldn’t quite make it out, but something about it unnerved him. He decided to investigate and moved through the shoppers, following the sound.

Big white signs with the word ‘Sale’ sailed past him as he continued through the store. The sounds grew as he moved in and out the aisles. He tried to tune out the other sounds around him. His rubber soles shrieked against the marble. Soft indistinguishable mumbling could be heard all around. He went to a square where mannequins stood on a podium in long draping dresses of muted greens. The fabric moved slightly as the fans over them churned the warm, dry air. They held their arms towards the ceiling, carrying wicker baskets of plastic fruits. Hangers clacked as they hit other hangers. The sound became louder as he walked closer to the mannequins, and as he stood before the figures, he realized; it was screaming. He stretched his neck, stood on his toes and scouted over the rows of clothing behind the mannequins. Someone was screaming from somewhere. He saw only a poly fiber leg carried by a store employee, fluorescent lamps hanging from a black celling, and heads and heads drifting about. Could it really be? No, he probably just couldn’t hear it well enough. He noticed bubbles floating upwards in the blue see through plastic of a water cooler next to the wall. A girl in a flower-patterned dress was drinking water from a white plastic cup. Maybe it was a child?

He turned and paced the store to find his girlfriend. He passed a pillar of mirrors. Glancing into them he thought how the rows of clothing and shoppers looked endless in the gleaming silver-like surface. The screaming grew louder still as he searched the store. It was no child. He was no longer unsure. Someone was screaming, and he spun around and checked for the source, but he saw nothing that resembled any signs of distress or urgency. None of the shoppers seemed to have noticed the screaming and carried on browsing, slowly shifting their feet on the bright white marble floor. He started to sweat. How could they not notice? He wiped his brow with his sleeve. A cash register beeped and crunched behind him and a drawer flew out. That will be 5 pounds. How could anyone not notice?

He finally found her. He saw her reflection in one of the mirrors. She was holding up a black t-shirt with a bright green and purple palm tree print in front of her. He rushed to her, and he noticed that his breathing was heavy. Hi babe, she said as she continued to admire the shirt in the mirror. She held her phone in her hand and looked back and forth between it and the mirror. Do you hear that? he whispered. He had trouble keeping his voice down due to his labored breathing. She took a picture with her phone and put the t-shirt down on a pile of clothing on her right, and pulled a short sleeved, knee-length summer dress in a warm yellow from a pile on her left before she answered. What? She didn’t take her eyes off the mirror and he tried again. You don’t hear that? he hissed at her. The screaming grew louder again and was now clearly audible. It was a woman’s voice. She glanced at him in the mirror before putting down the dress and pulling out a pair of bright-red shorts from the pile on her left. No, what do you mean? Or was it a man’s voice? He looked around and had finally gotten his breathing under control. The shoppers were still looking down and moving slowly through the aisles. A great big ‘Relax’ in light gray tones hung from the ceiling over their heads. The screaming, you don’t hear someone screaming? He had raised his voice over a whisper and surprised himself with the volume. The bass and snares increased in volume and flushed in between the aisles. There is clearly someone screaming, listen, just listen for a moment. She looked at him in the mirror again and raised her chin and veered her head around. The voice had become shrill and raspy and it was clear, that it was someone in agony. No, I don’t hear anything, now stop acting weird. She put the shorts down and pulled up a linen blazer in white with deep blue-vertical stripes. Now pleading was heard, and then a series of ‘no, no, no’ before the screaming continued as before. He stared at her in the mirror. That sounded like a child. She couldn’t be telling the truth, she couldn’t. He felt like the screaming was coming from the walls just beside them, like the person in pain was trapped behind the wall right next to them. She seemed so at ease. You must hear that, he shouted to make his voice heard over the scream. I really don’t, could you please not yell at me, she snapped back at him.

The scream grew louder, more desperate. She picked up a pair of bleached, ripped jeans, held them up and snapped a picture with her phone. He looked over the aisles once again, and saw the shoppers browsing and shifting from side to side, looking down with matte eyes. There were hundreds of them, not one was looking up. Two of them bumped into one another as they moved down a rack but hardly seemed to notice. He looked up at the ceiling, at the endless rows of fluorescent lights, and suddenly became aware that he could not see the exit anywhere. He turned around, still no exit to be found. He turned again, no sign of the green neon. He spun around himself, but all he saw were rows and rows of aisles and racks and mannequins and employees and light bulbs and pillars and signs and cash registers and mirrors and shoppers and couches and sale signs and water coolers and it all came together in one big sickening blur, and he had to stop. He felt queasy. There was no sign to be found anywhere. There were no windows with light coming in from the outside. Beads of sweat fell from his chin and onto the marble floor. He got lightheaded as his breathing became hard once again. He tried to steady himself, rationalize and make sense of the situation, but failed as he was hit by another realization. He couldn’t remember how long they had been there, nor how they had gotten there. He couldn’t really recall anything before he looked up from his phone. The scream grew again, this time to a deafening, piercing level, and he covered his ears and clenched his jaw. He grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her around and shouted: We have to leave, right now! She didn’t look him in the eyes, but kept her eyes on his chest, and she said something that he didn’t hear. What? he shouted and put his ear next to her mouth. And then he heard her. It isn’t there, okay? Her voice was harsh, she had spoken through her teeth, and he pushed her away and saw her face. It was contorted in a strange smile and her eyes were tearing up. She moved her lips again, but her words didn’t reach him. He was pressing the palms of his hands tightly over his ears to block out the screaming and was looking around while a creeping sense of desperation rose from his stomach. He looked over the rows of people all bearing the same strange smile. None of them looked up, but instead they continued browsing and pulling clothes off the rack as the screaming drowned out the soothing melody from the speakers.

Photos: Lasse Fischer, Mads Zaar Riisberg.

Zaar Riisberg// My Year in Mobile Shots

December 28, 2022

It is my firm hope that 23 will see this site thriving. To be perfectly honest, there isn’t anymore shit that can happen. This site is needed - I know that.

Fabæk // Zaarchasm

March 28, 2021

We’ve been exhibiting the last week - and we’re planning where to bring it next. The works are primarily urbex, punk, quirk, juxta, humor etc - but I had some of my high end streets as a side exhibit.

Bo Kenneth Sylvest Jakobsen // State of the World Visual Address // Two Blind, One Dead.

January 19, 2021

Caption on face mask reads: “Protect the weak”.

A few months ago I asked a bunch of people to produce or give me an example of how they saw this world right at this moment. Some replied, and the next few weeks, their offerings will be posted in an ongoing series.

The 7th one is by Bo Kenneth Sylvest Jakobsen. It is a provocative street art comment on COVID19. If you like this, do engage and leave a comment. We’d l ove to hear from you.

To Blinde En Død (Beskyt de svage)(Skråplan)-2.jpg

Caption on face mask reads: “I was lonely”.

Niels Fabæk // State of the World Visual Address #6 // Silence of the Urbex

December 18, 2020

The 6th one is by Niels Fabæk. If you like this, do engage and leave a comment. We’d love to hear from you.

This contribution mainly plays out as a gallery. In 2021 I am planning articles on concert photography - Niels will be one of the contributors.

This post is curated by Zaar Riisberg - the artist sent an entire folder of really good shit. We could have posted more. Make sure to catch Niels Fabæk’s concert photography here in the spring of ‘21.

Martin J. Sabine // State of the World Visual Address #5 // Fists of Fury

November 02, 2020

The 5th one is by Martin J. Sabine. If you like this, do engage and leave a comment. We’d love to hear from you.

This is clearly symbol minded, but this time for all the right reasons. One of the best weapons against an adversary, perceived or real, is to bastardise or outright steal their symbols and twist their values. It sows division. But there is a graphic quality at play here that I really like, best described as timeless. Timeless is better than trend and much harder to achieve.

The Newslarder #5

November 02, 2020

So, I botched the URL on Graham O’Neill’s contribution for State somehow. It’s all up in the air right now, isn’t it? It’s not easy right now, but I fear I might be using it as an excuse - it’s not easy for anyone is it. Becuase we let idiots have free range, and now we have to rein them in - 7 billion of them. I need a nap first.

We are continuing down the road with ‘State’, but the pipeline is getting a little, shall we say, portly? Still mostly the usual suspects, though, this site is garnering a lot of interest. I just went through the back catalog - and you know what? I love it - it’s unpretentious, and I’m proud of this site - even though, it is still a framework of what it will be. Hopefully.

Next in ‘State’ will be Mr. Sabine later today.

Ron Rubenstein // State of the World Visual Address #4

October 05, 2020

The 4th one is by Ron Rubenstein. If you like this, do engage and leave a comment. We’d love to hear from you. RR is a bit of an enigmatic character who takes the shots none of us do. He hails from the US and has a tv personality president. Not sure where you go to catch RR these days - last I saw, he was on IG. But I cannot confirm that as I deleted my account. It seems to be that people who lend their artworks to AB, do not post a lot of other places. If you want to see something really lush by RR go here (these are some of my favorite photographies in existence).

Martin J. Sabine // Negative Space Paradigm

September 21, 2020

The negative space that surrounds objects and places, devoid as it is, of all encompassing light still draws our attention. The intrusive spark of brightness within the darkness of an image highlighting the contrast between the two. You come to the photograph or image as an aesthetic object with no context... Then you step in and read the text and then out again to revisit the image in a completely different way. I'm interested in that space between text and image. The piece becomes the negative space between the two. Therefore conceptually the two sets of negative space the one within the image the other between the text and image come together as a kind of symbiotic paradox.

The Importance of this analysis is presumptive, in so much that it requires a level of understanding from potential viewers of the image, to make a distinction between the title (the text) and the photograph (the image) a photograph without proper caption is worthless particularly in journalism. On the other hand, you can cause damage with an incorrect title: For instance you can diminish the impact of an image by using overly cute titles, or take away the imagination of the viewer by describing too much or leading in a direction that the image is not quite supporting. Sometimes this might be an enhancement, where the author of the image wants to influence the audience in any given direction, and other times it can end up being a distraction.

In essence do titles contribute to the meaning that is seen in an image? According to purist doctrine, words beyond the image/frame are not supposed to influence the understanding or appreciation of visual form, ergo it argues that titles should function simply as identification tags not sources of meaning for the viewer. The contrary position of most discerning contemporary advocates of the free aesthetic articulate views at variance to the purist credo, moreover they have moved away from the elitist doctrine on how art should be viewed to a more open liberal approach that focuses on conceptualizing the function of titles, as an example they are concerned with titles not as mere tags, but descriptions that have a unique purpose that determine to a degree the interpretation of the aesthetic of an image.

What a work of art is titled…..has a significant effect on the aesthetic it presents and the qualities we perceive in it. Titles emphasise relevant contextual factors in the viewing of artworks and different titles engage the viewer in many ways. Some titles for instance provide explicit directives for interpretation which can add to the experience or conversely in other cases detract. In some examples the title can be a simple and straightforward description that adds little to the meaning of the work so becomes neutral in the equation.

In conclusion does the difference in the title affect what people interpret from an image or in part what they attend to, or do different people respond and react differently? That question is open-ended as we all know that art is very subjective and we take what we want from any presentation of art. I think we can all agree, that as long as we enjoy the engagement whether positive or negative, is all that matters and that so long as we take away an overall appreciation of the experience then this is a benefit to both the viewer and the artist….

Graham O'Neill // Belle Époque Denied // State of the World Visual Address #3

September 16, 2020

April 23: The Sadness of the Unseen, Leaving

The 3rd one is 3 shots by Graham O’Neill. If you like this, do engage and leave a comment. We’d love to hear from you. GO is a father, family man and photographer with a progressively poetic soul. He hails from England and has a clown for a prime minister.

For more on Graham, you can catch his work on 500px, IG and Kujaja.

Check out #1 here and #2 here

The Newslarder #4

September 04, 2020

Edited mobile shot / random tunnel is Aarhus

First two contributions in State of the World Visual Address are out. Apparently, that has inspired others to jump in, so we might have an ongoing thing on our hands. That sounded almost dirty, if not oddly romantic too. There’s a possiblity that we might look into charity. Both me and MJS have a soft spot for youths in dire straits, so, why not?

We are still interested in contributors in general, but we are just not the kind of people to chase after you, beg you or kiss your ass. The idea of a collective and a synergy where we use each others circles to get further out without doing much SOME, is still a sound one. Too much art languishes in the dark because there is too little trust artists between. I am talking about artistry here - other photographers are still ‘a problem’, and unless you are a teacher leading students, I do not understand photo walks. But that is NOT to say artists cannot band together. They should - and we should be honest with each other. Way too many fence sitters concerned with ‘keeping up appearances’ ruin our chances of having a real, fruitful discourse. Just be fucking real instead of always trying to position yourself, or be something you are not.

That is my main grievance with people. Fly your flag, claim your divinity, but back it up with skills. Nobody wants to hear who your friends are, or that you had coffee with the 3rd cousin of Banksy in a London pub only three people know of. Seriously, cancel poser culture. And be interesting - not coy, not reserved, not arrogant etc. - interesting, suspenseful, confrontational, passionate, alive, awake, in love - be those things.

We will try and monetise this a bit, maybe for charity as well as the daily run of it. But there is still a lot of work to be done. I wish you all a nice weekend.

Remember to check the contributions for ‘State…’

Henrik B. Clausen // Benched // State of the World VIsual Address #2

September 02, 2020

The second one is a shot by Henrik B. Clausen. If you like this, do engage and leave a comment. We’d love to hear from you. HBC is a film director and videographer from Denmark.

For more on HBC check his Vimeo

Check out #1 here

Christoffer Fabæk Kjær // The Speaker // State of the World Visual Address #1

August 28, 2020

The first one is a drawing by Christoffer Fabæk Kjær. If you like this, do engage and leave a comment. We’d love to hear from you.

For more on CFK check his IG.

The Newslarder #3

August 27, 2020

The state of the world project starts tomorrow (Friday). They will be stand alone posts for the most. There are tons of other articles that need to go up, but we have one editor here, and I have been lackluster, battling a few things, as I have touched on before. That is nearing an end - which is good, because I am tired of being hampered by unimportant shit.

What’s important in this day and age, I hear you say? Well, art, satire, humour, critique - now more than ever. When was the need for creativity and critique ever bigger?. We need to teach people to question things again. In schools, we should be teaching kids to question things, not be obedient fucking parrots with a credit card.

Just Art has been updated - go take a look, if you don’t believe me. We are also contemplating more on mobile/smartphone photography, but the ‘mobile’ section is not coming back - just like the project starting tomorrow, we want to have a dialog with people, so more avenues for interaction are planned, and no, it will not involve SOME, because fuck SOME.

In the words of Captain Black Adder: wobble, wobble.

The Newslarder #2

August 08, 2020

This should have been out Friday. I need to thank the participants in our joint project for their patience. I am doing the work when I can, but have been battling some shitty sleep and a few other things. Yeah, I am honest about shit, sorry. Honesty is all I have left really. Just a few shout outs to the others supporting the site - and my brother in arms, MJS. Truly a privilege to call you a friend.

Zaar Riisberg (Zaarchasm) feat. Martin J. Sabine // The Silence of the Trolls

August 03, 2020

With all the predictions about how Donald Trump will fare in November, it is surprising that no one focuses on the silence of the 2016 trolls. I used to go to Twitter and debate with Trumpettes, just to be in a hostile environment - you know, training? But these days it is downright hard finding someone to attack you. In ‘16 and ‘17 they would swarm you on fake accounts as soon as you said anything about Trump. Likewise, Yahoo! is flooded with what is usually referred to as ‘libtards’, having fun at Donnie’s expence.

Forget polls or anything else you see in the media, this is the clearest sign that if there is a silent minority or majority out there, it is not only silent, it is hiding. If Trumpers are anything, it is in your face - Roger Stone taught Trump that, and he passed it on to his followers. Admit nothing, deny everything, launch counter offensive. Or the short version: attack, attack, attack. I realise that Stone is the architect in this, but he is a mere opportunist navigating in a modernity gone awry. This has been on the cards since Ronald Reagan, mind you. Perhaps one of the worst presidents in modern times, yet he is a hero to many Americans, which should tell you all you need to know about how the American mind operates.

At least Stone is smart - and believe or not, he is also quite cultivated and a libertine feminist. How you can enable misogynism as a declared feminist, remains unexplained, though. Had Trump not commuted his sentence, Stone would have exacted a horrible revenge at some point. Stone was around before Trump, he will be around after. But as the designing architect, Stone is more guilty than anyone.

Now, as recently as yesterday, there are lots of reports still suggesting that the silent majority/minority is large, and we are lead to believe that a huge amount of people will not admit to voting for Trump, because of the stigma that carries. One argument is that Hillary was even further ahead than Joe Biden is, so this will not be a problem. This is not true, in all of 2016 there was not one poll that put Hillary 12-13 points ahead. She was never close to pulling even with Trump in states like Texas and Georgia. Uncle Joe is. Today, reporting is suggesting that Biden might take a state that no republican president has been able to do without for 95 years. I mean, this is starting to look like at Jimmy Carter’esque flogging. And Biden? He is just sitting on his ass.

Nobody likes Trump, not even himself. That is the curse of the narcissist. Meanwhile, Donald is a odd narcissist, as he over compensates, but he also under performs. Anyone with a brain in their head - even alt-righters - know that if USA re-elect Trump it is over. This world must burn. The reason? There isn’t one.

The Newslarder #1

July 31, 2020

As we enter August AB will become a lot more active. I, personally, have a huge post to prepare with 15+ artists under one theme. There is much more coming and generally a lot of work to do. I’m very happy that people backed this site’s first major project, and I can’t wait to show it to you.

Traffic can always be better on a site, and it goes without saying that we don’t have millions of hits. But we get decent traction. This means the world to me and others, since I am finally in a place where I can take this forward, along with a few partners in crime.