Martin J. Sabine // Boris Johnson "Class" Clown

photostudio_1592144318882.png

Imagine if you will Boris and his "Bullingdon Boys" talking of jolly japes guffawing out loud at their outlandish behaviour their collective arses covered by their privilage, trashed restaurants, hotel rooms and pigs heads notwithstanding is this really the acceptable background and remit for someone to run the country.

The characteristics he displayed at Oxford – entitlement, aggression, amorality, lack of concern for others – are still there, dressed up in a contrived, jovial image. It’s a mask to sanitise some ugly features. They "the boys" treated certain types of people with absolute disdain, and referred to them as ‘plebs’ or ‘grockles’, and the police were always called ‘plod’. Their attitude was that women were there for their entertainment, to do with them whatever they wished. Among them was the former Prime Minister David Cameron and George "Austerity" Osbourne a fine bunch of individuals? Well I leave that up to you to decide.

Johnson's total lack of morality and his penchant for lying is excused by those around him as "Oh it's just Boris being Boris" Really!! Portrayal of him as an irrasicable charmer  running his hand through his mop of hair like a spoiled child is dangerous as this paints him as harmless when he is anything but. Class to him is the get out of jail card, the product of a privileged background, all grace and favor, the cheque book bailout if all else fails. It's hardly the credentials of an upstanding citizen.

His grotesque portrayal of ethnic minorities is another failure of his "class" upbringing, couched in terms of colonialism his references to black people as "piccaninnies with watermelon smiles" and muslim women in burkhas as nothing more than postboxes is an affront to common decency and downright racist. When challenged about this Johnson characterised it like this "I like to think my instincts, in this respect, are as blameless as those of the average person; and the thing is, I am guilty nonetheless. Not of racism, I hope, but of spasms of incorrectitude, soon over, soon regretted". Well that's fucking alright then! Hand slap to forehead…

He leaves behind him a trail of failed relationships and "bastard" children the number of which is unknown as again the cheque book defence came in handy to keep that tally out of the public domain. His failure to accept responsibility for anything is self-evident in the way he distracts, waffles and bluster's through the present crisis of the pandemic, plausible deniability his weapon of choice. His animated delusional obsession of leaving the EU without a deal is on display everyday, his use of latin phrases used as a warrior would use a shield, to deflect from his inadequacy, his continued use of language which is often a mixture of unexpected metaphors or turns of phrase, hyperbole, and nostalgia, very often with a particularly British twist such as piffle, mugwump and nincompoop.

All the character traits listed here are the sum of the parts of a public facade to absolve Boris Johnson of the reality that he is in fact of a lesser intelligence than he and his entourage would have us believe, personally I blame his parents, siblings and educators who have allowed him to become the person he is today a self obsessed misogynist, a racist and narcissist, a fucking good slap early on in life would have knocked the "braghard" out of him and sending him through a normal educational system would have stood him in better stead than the cloak of privilege which hangs loose upon his rounded shoulders.

So when Boris and his "Classmates" drive us over the Brexit cliff edge all those who voted for him and his cronies will have those immortal words ringing in their collective ears "Well it's just Boris being Boris".....

© M.J. Sabine 2020



Zaar Riisberg (Zaarchasm) // Inheritance

IMG_8094-2.jpg

Money is nice to have in this world. But your real inheritance is your upbringing, as any living thing initially accepts the world that is put in front them. Later, they might start asking questions. It is important that they are shaped to do so. They mostly build on past experiences of others, like teachers, parents and indeed family and friends. This ensures that behaviour, that is counter productive, gets weeded out of the human DNA that is passed on. This is a sound practice, that involves a keen sense of understanding of what you are part of. Not necessarily on a scientific or existential level - but on a grounded one - so you do not tip over at the first gust of wind. People today are not stressed out because they are worked too hard, they are stressed out because they have no inner compass and therefore no sense of place or being. That makes it impossible to ‘rest’ in reality, and they flee into their phones.

We are a drone race of individuals, and hurt can be passed on for generations. It only takes one bad parent to start another chain of ignorance or violence - or, indeed, both. The responsibility we have as parents, teachers and mentors is as immense as it is beautiful. It is a massive undertaking being human. Most take it too lightly.

Yes, this is about my dad - I will get to my mom in another article. Because, they are the sum of my parts, and I know others have excellent parents as well. That is my biggest wish for anyone alive, to have incredible parents. It would solve a lot on this rock. My dad’s a mensch. No wonder, because so was his dad - whom, was my best friend growing up. None of us really ever recovered from his death - not me, neither my mom or dad. He passed on at the age of 78. My dad has a lot of the same personality - with add ons. Picking up a role or a talent, and then learning it, is something I have from him. My respect for the fairer sex was not just instilled in me by my mom, but just as much by my dad. But we both think that men and women should be just that - men and women. Which is why, in this day and age, I just stay away from women - they are as nuts as men. Another lesson learned.

Males have an incredible responsebility that we will not lift by cow towing to women, nor treating them like shit, or indeed, not as equals. The male role model, with empathetic values, but a sound idea of ‘enough is enough’, is needed more than ever. But the real man seems to be trapped between the hormonally crazed neo-yuppie and the metrosexual loser we see all over modernity. Hipsters, flanked by men in stumpy suits, because some wankstain in Paris told them it was ‘in’. Or they sleep outside a retail store to get the 5th season of Yeezy’s foul design. These are not men, they are an advertisement for someone else’s idea of making money. We don’t need any of these types of men - we need compassion, leadership and intelligence in modern man - and it is lacking in most.

Martin J. Sabine // Trump - America's Foremost Problem

Trump_Straitjacket.jpg

Notwithstanding the ongoing pandemic and the uprising of the Black Lives Matter movement the biggest problem the United States of America has at this moment is Donald J Trump. The President and Commander in Chief is cerebrally challenged and not fit to hold office; his malfeasance and irrational behaviour would have had a lesser person sectioned under the relevant mental health legislation.

Trump's lack of empathy, knowledge of world affairs  and plain old common sense leave him and the office he holds at the mercy of malevolent countries and operators worldwide. He is a toxic mix of weak moral leadership, racial divisiveness, crass and vulgar rhetoric and an erosion of norms, institutions and trust in traditional values.

His detractors at home are subjected to kindergarten playground bully tactics delivered in a staccato twitter speak, examples such as "Sleepy Joe, Pocahontas, Little Marco" are but a few. This coming from a man with a thousand isles dressing complexion, flyaway hair, small hands and an even smaller brain. 

He’s a TV personality, a failed businessman with many bankrupted companies lying in his wake, he's a serial philanderer, bigot, misogynist and liar. He has a cult following that’s centred around this white power broker persona rooted in white supremacy and racism. Wherever he goes, he carries that role and that kind of persona, but ultimately right now what America needs is real leadership. He is incapable of providing that because that’s not who he is. This in itself should tell you everything you need to know about the state and health of the body politic in America today.

The fact that he officiates via twitter and through stooges such as Kayleigh McEnema the latest "Barbie Doll" press secretary is testimony to his delusional behaviour, I wonder if he grabbed her by the crotch  by way of an introduction? The list of people holding this post includes just one man Sean Spicer who visibly imploded in public under the strain of trying to defend the indefensible, all since then have been women which clearly begs the question, why would they lie for a President who shows nothing but contempt for their rights and gender? 

Trump has also succeeded by implanting his own picks, to manipulate the way the Attorney General's Office and the Department of Justice works in a way that undermines the integrity and professionalism of the lawyers and prosecutors who work there, and in turn subjugated the law into an arena for gaining partisan advantage and settling political grudges. Other Presidents have never asked nor expected their attorneys general to use the vast investigatory and prosecutorial power of the justice department itself to intervene in criminal cases to help political allies, to buy the silence of those who might threaten him, or to discredit political adversaries. That is a dangerous precedent being set in turbulent political times and can upset the fine balance that exists between the judiciary and politicians, a very new world order indeed.

I just hope that come November the people of the United States of America make the right choice and vote accordingly and restore some balance in the world which seems to have been taken over by right wing populism at the moment, it's very unsettling when the world is in the midst of dealing with a pandemic.

Some of you reading this will no doubt accuse me of the same juvenile transgressions in my criticism of Trump well sometimes you have to adopt the tactics of the transgressor to make valid points about their personality traits, but to be honest it's actually because I'm a sarcastic bastard and I totally lack objectivity when it comes to someone like Trump so as they say in America….."bite me".

© M.J. Sabine 2020





The Many Faces of Anti Racism

Last year, way before George Floyd met a gruesome end on the pavement, I was at a rally against racism. We often see the faces of hate and intolerance. These faces are different, they want a different future. The universe tells us, that none of us matter - that is why all of us should matter - to each other…

ZR.


Zaar Riisberg (Zaarchasm) // La Vie

I recently moved to a new city. You need your own haunts when you come to a new city. There’s a little café in the city - it’s called La Vie, and yes, the owner is a francophile. But his genuine wish, is just for people to talk, mingle - boheme, comes to mind. Libertines would frequent the place as well. Interesting conversations, wine, pastis and art on the walls. Martin, the owner, tries to let local talent exhibit - and often, the air is thick with discussions on literature and art. I’ve not spotted absinthe yet, but there’s probably a bottle somewhere.

IMG_7415.jpg

I had gone by the place a few times, and always stopped to check it out. But it turned out a friend of mine was good friends with the owner. The first time I visited, I lost track of time, got slightly drunk and was discussing novels, thinkers and the general shit state of the world. It’s the sort of place that chokes out your inner nihilist, and makes you want to be part of a group again.

IMG_7562.jpg
IMG_7564.jpg

Not surprisingly, a place like that has been hit hard by the corona. So they did some nice artwork as ‘shares’ that you could buy. I was kind of decided on this becoming ‘my place’ to hang out, so my fingers are crossed. Now, La Vie has been allowed to open again - so if you ever visit the city of Horsens, make it a point to visit La Vie!

Au Revoir!

Au Revoir!

Zaar Riisberg (Zaarchasm) // The Vestiges of the Veteran Fighter

Snownly Walker.jpg

As a ray of light starts to shine on my life again, my brother walks in darkness

Surrounded by both love and uncertainty he once again dons the vestiges of the veteran fighter

Round one, round two, round three - on the ropes - but still last man standing

A smile, a shoulder and an iron will through internal hell

Depended upon, loved and revered

A father, a friend for life

Stronger than all

Unique.

Right, let's do this - I'm out of SOME to post on anyways...

This shit is not easy. But instead of a host of blogs, Artballistics is going to have one feed. I will be looking into using Patreon and see if this concept can run somewhat on donations. The idea is content every week, but that is not going to happen unless I do it myself, and offer others curation. When this site is running, it actually has a lot of clicks - I guess, because it is rather unique, and well, insistent. I will be starting the work on the site tomorrow, and will post a date for relaunch.

Who else here is a fucked up narcissist?

Who else here is a fucked up narcissist?

It helps if you don’t create something like this while still trying to claw your way out of a personal crisis, or indeed, if you’re still poor as fuck. I can check both those boxes. Then again, this site is already full of lush stuff, art critique, middle fingers and social conscience. Show me where else I can go to get that, because I trawl the net and come up short.

My problem has always been, that I am a photographer’s photographer, and well, I’m obnoxious (perceived…) and sometimes quite the Eminem of photography - I like to point at the big elephant in the room, that everyone ignores, and that gets you enemies. It also affords you a lot of time on your own, alone, as people shun you, both irl and online (old news). Well, not totally true - on the net they tip toe around your platforms, careful not to let you know, that they are checking your stuff out. Which is sort of pathetic, but there you go.

This, btw, did not do very well on Instagram - and you can see why - the light control is awful and it is such a non evocative image.

This, btw, did not do very well on Instagram - and you can see why - the light control is awful and it is such a non evocative image.

Well, fuck moderation. Zaarchasm was already lurking in the shadows, and I’ve been making excuses for what or who I am. No reason for that - I’ve had a bad conscience since Kujaja and 500px, I even sometimes ask myself if it was necessary. It was. Maybe I, more than anyone else, got the worst treatment by my fellow photographers. I never understood that - for what? For calling out vitriolic behaviour and people? For insisting on genres, for calling out shallow behaviour or shit photography? I ran head first into the fact, that most people, when it comes to their craft, have become curling babies. ‘To each their own’ is the prayer of the talentless.

Well, you know what ‘artist’? That which cannot stand critique is false. So fuck your glossy shit, fuck your bay area shots, fuck your long exposure, fuck your truckload of gear (you talentless fucking nerd), fuck your automatic release - no wait, because that is what this is about, isn’t it? Your release. Jerk off.

/Zaarchasm.



Zaar Riisberg // Everybody's a Photographer Until 'M'

IMG_0176.jpg

I saw this caption on an add on Instagram. Some course for hopeful photographers. The main gist of the manipulation being that all real photographers shoot on manual. Let me just intervene for a second here: BULLSHIT. I sift through the comments, which is pretty uneventful, until I spot the usual, daft moron trying to flex his shit. A ways down someone leaves this gem: “<<<< I’m a real photographer, and mine never leaves M”. I comment and point out, that there’s simply shit you will not get then, and opportunities you will definitely miss - you’re also a purist twat for no productive reason. Never mind this business of highlighting to others ‘what it’s all about’ - piss off, and let people define their own relationship with the craft.

As if photography was ever about auto focus, manual focus, digital or analog. Some of the best mono I have seen in recent history, was by Laurent Hette, and it was out of bloody focus (on purpose…but there you go). It is about affinity for light and telling stories and creating moods - that’s it. Fuck motif too. If the manner in which we create as photographers was so damn important, we should all be on daguerreotype. We have all been insufferable in this category, and we need to stop it and just create. Who cares what everyone else thinks?

I get this all the time, and I have lost precious time trying to create what I thought people wanted. Like I give a fuck? It stops being interesting when you stop doing what you want to do and start worrying about what unimportant assholes want. Forget about gear, it is only your own mind that can let you down - your brain is your gift and your greatest enemy at the same time. This is where focus actually matters: talent does not mean anything if you lack it - and we all do from time to time.

Graham O'Neill // Bad Case of Bubble Vission

Push process bubbles.JPG

When we get stuff from Graham, I’ve noticed circles and curves, along with some everyday minimalism sometimes, appeal a lot to him, and are a bit of a theme. For a long time, back on 500px, I remember it being a thing with Tyson Rayburn as well (if you are not familiar with his work, you should look him up).

Graham also gives air of something my brain calls ‘buddy-photography’ (no, I do not know why). It is not the same as the ‘near vicinity art’ I often see Sabine utilise, rather, it is reflecting on your surroundings in a less dramatic way than I myself am capable of.

/Zaar Riisberg

Lasse Fischer // Big Deep Breath

We should talk about something.

2J8K0237.jpg

In the aftermath of the European and Danish elections many might feel disillusioned, exhausted, and some even bitter. Let us take a collective breath and giant exhale as the dust settles. What did we learn? Well, for one we got to experience precisely how intense it is to live in a time where the cries for our attention are shriller than ever, at least according to my memory. The need for attention whether it be products or politics has always existed, but the commercialization of our attention is something rather new. Our electronic devices have made it laughably easy for anyone to gain access to us, and as such, our spaces of refuge from the hustle and bustle of everything around us have shrunk - and are still shrinking with remarkable speed.
Pling
Did you reach for your phone? Of course not, this is a text and there was no actual sound, but you get the picture.

Big Deep Breath

We have happily embraced this development with relatively little criticism, and even when we criticize we mostly do not act on our arguments against the invasion of our privacy and mental resting places. And we have become complaisant with this reality because we get used to how things are very quickly, especially if it involves more convenience and comfort for us. And so the great trade-off of our time is that of our private refuge for an endless catering to our needs. It is someone’s best interest for you to pay attention, but it will not always be in yours, no matter how flashy the screen might get. And so we get to the crux of this post.

It is easy to get riled up, and one should get their blood pumping from time to time over important issues, but with the way we live there is always a cause to bleed for. Being a big consumer of political commentary and news on Youtube I know how anger, sadness, frustration and utter disbelief can be summoned within minutes of the first press on a screen. It is crucial to get some distance once in a while. I recall overhearing a 16-year old punk kid discussing climate change the other day crying out ‘it is all too late, were going to die’, his green mohawk wiggled with fear and frustration as he talked. And while being at a barbeque at my parents place my brother in law decreed the then upcoming election to be ‘the most important in history’. I silently made a salad in the kitchen while he vigorously discussed this with my sister in the living room.

Big Deep Breath

I am not one to beat real and heartfelt issues to death with a big ‘all things are relative’ stick because there are genuinely causes for concern that should be taken serious, but such concerns require a measure of rest as well. When dealing with an unending stream of information it might be difficult to figure out when to take a break, but let me tell you, anytime is fine. Living in a constant stream of reasons for emotional upheaval isn’t healthy for anyone. Do it now, take a walk, drink a cup of coffee with a friend, paint something, put the phone away – take care of yourself. While you do that let us reaffirm a couple of truths and contemplate some well-meant pointers:
 
Consuming media without the time to reflect on the information given is merely consumption.

Some things are out of your control.

Seeing results take time.

Be ready to admit when you are wrong.

Getting upset is a valid response, but not always productive.

Striving for a positive mindset and perspective will greatly increase your quality of life.

Pay attention to your own, your family’s, and your friend’s well-being.

Take care of yourself, take a breather.    

Zaar Riisberg (Zaarchasm) // I am Special pt 1: Bland on the Run

_MG_4435.jpg

I did some shots for a band my friend was playing in. Little did I know, that my friend was being fucked over by these twats. My friend is the most gifted guitarist I have ever met - a truly brilliant maverick musician. The band was doing old punk songs - in my opinion, something vastly below the skillset of my friend, but not the rest of the guys in the band - whom I really liked. Turned out they were doucebags. Small men as it were. I have met my share of them, trying to stab me in the back, sully my name in front of others, or just ganging up on you in a really vile manner. Why do the rest of us have to contend with other people’s insecurities?

Most shots were painstakingly done, initially run through Lightroom, Camera Raw, Photoshop and carefully finished with just the right offset - EACH AND EVERY SHOT. On top of this, I payed my own way at a one of their concerts and gave them the shots. Top dollar work, and the best pictures the band had - and they are still using them. It is good work, even though, it was pro bono or payed very little. Why? Because I work passionately for people I like and very professionally for people that pay. I value my personal integrity - after all, I have to live with myself.

_MG_4484.jpg

So once again, people of mediocre talent are allowed to stifle those of real talent. This is a problem for this world - the envy of the truly bland. ‘I am special’ the individual seems to cry out. It always leaves me with a ‘prove it’ echoing through my brain. Instead, most will scale the body of others, until they reach the shoulders and then stand on them.

It is the same behaviour that made me hide, curtail my output or indeed control it a lot more. I have hated being an inspiration for others, and I have felt exasperated at times, when people more or less said ‘so inspirational, keep it coming’. Fuck you. I would rather not have an output than inspire people that never go out of the box themselves. The excitement for me is creation, exceeding boundaries - I want to look behind the veil, I want to be on the path to the palace of wisdom.

_MG_4440.jpg

I do not know what path everyday farts like the ones that fucked over my friend are on. All I know is, that when the people of talent have had enough, everyone else is left up shit creek without a paddle but a ton of followers, either payed for or collected under false pretences. I am not even talking about ‘influencers’ - we all know they are a bunch of cock suckers - no, I am talking about people and artists of talent that chose to find a template for success, rather than being true to themselves and let the subconscious grab their aim and steer them in.

With this, I open the floor to others - past and present contributors or indeed readers - to enter this theme ‘I am Special’ - would you like to write part II or III? I have more instalments myself, but I do so love the yumminess of concerted and collaborated efforts.

Zaar Riisberg (Zaarchasm) // Sessions of Serenity

The basic shot was done in Råbjerg Mile, a wandering dune in the northern part og Denmark. It is well worth a visit - and the silence, out of season, is as incredible as it is soothing. I have never named the shot, so feel free to suggest something…

The basic shot was done in Råbjerg Mile, a wandering dune in the northern part og Denmark. It is well worth a visit - and the silence, out of season, is as incredible as it is soothing. I have never named the shot, so feel free to suggest something in the comment section.

I love this shot myself. It is the last bits of light during a summer solstice. Maybe it was 2014, but that is not really important. It is a shot very close to my heart and believe or not, it was edited very little.

I love this shot myself. It is the last bits of light during a summer solstice. Maybe it was 2014, but that is not really important. It is a shot very close to my heart and believe or not, it was edited very little.

The best sunset shot I have ever done. That does not say a lot, though, since it is not really a motif I chase. This was taken on Æbelø, a small island in Denmark. It is an incredible place, describing this little gem would never do it justice and y…

The best sunset shot I have ever done. That does not say a lot, though, since it is not really a motif I chase. This was taken on Æbelø, a small island in Denmark. It is an incredible place, describing this little gem would never do it justice and you should go see for yourself.

Can a shot with lots of objects be serene? Yes, it can - if the artwork or shot imbues the viewer with calm, makes them breathe easier and creates a soothing environment for their eyes. It is never about feeling something intellectually or explainin…

Can a shot with lots of objects be serene? Yes, it can - if the artwork or shot imbues the viewer with calm, makes them breathe easier and creates a soothing environment for their eyes. It is never about feeling something intellectually or explaining it, rather, it is about feeling it. That must be why a fairly basic category like minimalism is littered with so many misunderstandings and misrepresentations.

Zaar Riisberg (Zaarchasm) // The Plastic Flower

IMG_0086.JPG


Plastic flowers. What's left unsaid lingers. Untold memories of restraint and ambiguity with a dash of stupidity. The usual suspect everyone knows is never guilty. The character you toss aside. The man you all like, but do not understand. The divider, yet the leader you congregate around. The loser you bar from accepting his defeat. The lover of light and the bringer of darkness, the voice of the silent, the anger of the vocal - the calm AND the storm. It is time to rise again.

(text first published on FB)

Lasse Fischer // The People of Plenty

There is enough, there is more than enough, actually there is plenty of it - indeed there is too much. We shift our limbs as if they were itching. The small stretch between us and it is is the greatest source of pain we have ever known. The cursed e…

There is enough, there is more than enough, actually there is plenty of it - indeed there is too much. We shift our limbs as if they were itching. The small stretch between us and it is is the greatest source of pain we have ever known. The cursed earth between us and it is soon to be swallowed up by our heels. We have longed for too long, and now it is there, a mount of plenty sitting on the horizon. The moans start rising from the group, we start eyeing each other. Each swollen calf and thigh is now weighed and analysed, and some start licking their lips, as they realize that they belong in the front of the group. A small moment of breathless silence. Then we start running towards it; mouths foaming and feet breaking against the lumpy ground. Our faces contract in agony, but somehow we keep going. Skin tears open and nails are torn off. We don't stop. The mere thought of what awaits us jolts our muscles and joints and keeps us going.

We arrive; pushing and kicking each other.

A cheek is torn off and the fleshy lump flails in between the conqueror’s teeth. The blood from the gash in his opponents face slathers his body and mixes with his sweat making him a pink, reddish spectacle amidst the sea of brown and white flesh.

We dive in, head first, feet first, whatever is the nearest it doesn't matter. Many of the misfortunates end up at the bottom of the meaty pile. They do not scream in agony though, they raise their voices in rejoice for being so near, so in touch with the plenty, even when the weight reaches such a tremendous amount, that their innards are forced outwards, do they scream in pleasure. The ones on top are crawling over the masses of bodies, moving and still, and continue further into the living landscape.

IMG_4281.jpg

The beginning of the pileup has started to take color. A mixture of beige and red has stained the naked bodies as they slip and slide among each other, while piece of man and woman gets squished between their toes.

Some of those who have found a spot of their own defend it relentlessly, aggressively attacking anyone, who dares near their share; piling cadavers around their newly founded camp.

Others smear themselves with the lot of it and let the surrounding mouths lick it off from every surface of their bodies, returning the favor later on, making them easily recognizable, as the colors of beige and red are scarce on their huge canvases, with the pale skin standing out in striking contrast. Otherwise it is only the shine from grinding teeth that can be distinguished in the homogeneous crowd. And they smile. Their grins seem unnatural and painfully forced; stretching the skin to the absolute limit; not blinking, as they would then miss out on looking at it.

We are all on all fours, all screaming, all smiling.

We are being filled with it, surrounded by it, and consumed by it, as we ourselves consume it

Zaar Riisberg (Zaarchasm) // I Hate Being an Empath

Be Still, My Bleeding Art.jpg

I have just shot a confirmation after spending an evening and morning with some adorable kids. I jump on a bus, and after a few stops a group of young people enter. A smell of beer and old cigarettes accompany them, and one guy in particular catches my attention. He sits across from me. He is jittery and not a day past 25 years of age. An infinite sadness starts to build inside me mixed with the sense that I have seen this kid before. They are all in somewhat good spirits, but my eyes still get wet. I see him whip out a small bottle of ‘Hot n’ Sweet’ (sweet, cheap liquor), and he knocks it back one time. I want to scream. I want to cry - I want to take everything he is fighting and put it on me. I am 43 - so fuck me. This kid, and I just know this, will not see 40 - maybe not even 30. My mind screams at him in silence: ‘who abandoned you’? ‘What asshole father left you to drift by yourself’?

They reach their stop, which, of course, is Mølleparken. Lots of people in Aarhus go there, however, you can be sure the drunks and addicts are out as well in the park - every damn day during the summer. As they leave I see his bag is full of ‘Hus Forbi’ - a paper produced by the homeless in Denmark. That is how I know him - he camps out selling them at the place where I used to shop on Vesterbro Torv. I get another flash of his face, and it hits me. I saw him getting harassed by a ‘normal’ woman in the inner city one time. It was classic - she told him to get a job, and he was trying to tell her that it was not that easy, that there were no jobs, and certainly not any for him. He had been begging which pisses people of. And now I know why I remember him so vividly. That day, I walked right up to him, past the woman and pressed a 100kr bill in his hand - he looked at me in total disbelief, I turned, flipped off the woman, gave her a sarcastic smile, and went on my merry way.

But it stings that it has to be this way. It tears at my being and it violates what we are about. We have no dignity if we let our own suffer. How can we fight for a place in the cosmos, when we do not even have the heart to fight for our own - much less animals, nature or the planet.

I wish I did not care. I wish I could care less. I wish, I wish, I wish. I will often question if it is just pretentiousness and subsequently second guess my own apparatus and heart. I will accuse myself of being a manipulative asshole that only feels this way, because it makes me feel righteous, special or good about myself. But I know it is not true. I am an empath and I hate every second of it. It does not make me feel good. A recently acquired friend shoved it in my face ‘oh, you’re an empath, that’s no fun, I mean, it’s lovely, but it’s horrible’. She was spot on. She often is. Unfortunately for her, it is a case of taking one to know one.

Some of us have big hearts. But it may come as a surprise to many of you, that it is a horrible burden. A bird hit the windshield at my parents, and I could not rest before I knew it was ok (80% of small birds die either way). I was passing the corridor in the house, what turns out to be a small moth flies toward me, and in the dark I instinctively swat it softly. When I get the lights on, the small fella is running in circles on the floor. That absolutely destroys me. You see? It is a fucked up way to live.

Zaar Riisberg (Zaarchasm) // Hipster Scheister

Hipster.jpg

I remember the first time someone said to me ‘but you’re a hipster’. The glare I sent the person in question, almost sent him to an early grave. Hipsters are retro fakers in my book - it is just a fad, just modern morons thinking it makes them authentic. All these soft men with long beards and tattoos coming out of every crevice, trying to convince you they are ‘pain addicts’. Yeah, try living with the gout, pussies. Pain becomes very relative then.

Both women and men buy clothes in second hand stores for prices that would make Solomon blush. When they’re studying, an old type writer is positioned in front of an MacAir which, when you check their screen out, rather often, either is working hard on an empty Word doc or being very creative on Facebook. Hipsters SUCK - hence I scoffed, when I was likened to one.

Shit man, be different, I get it, but be you. Donning someone else’s visage or craving what others have, or indeed are capable of, is not you. And if you want to provoke, have substance and be clever about it - and most important of all: do not be a copycat.

Why are you letting yourself be ‘influenced’? ‘Omg, that’s so cool’ - no, it is not. Cool is Quentin, cool is knowing your shit, cool is knowledge - cool is not some rich trouser stain telling you what to buy, who to emulate and what to think. But we already had this discussion at the cusp of entering 2000, and look where we are. Harrrruuuumpff.

I am shooting myself in the foot not branding my stuff on IG, or being my own person. I remain insignificant to most, but I will just dig my heels in. One thing, though. Well, actually two. I am not a hipster and you should get a shave, manchild.