When our bodies finally go


It’s almost as though they were live streaming their lives to themselves, so they could understand it.

The livestreamer’s “job, as he sees it, isn’t to mediate imagery, but rather to vacuum up as much of it as he can.

One fine day in the not so distant future we will reach the critical point of *every*thing being live streamed. That doubtlessly will make our nowness implode. Then our shells will be unable to hold all our insides and that’s when we’ll explode. And it won’t be a pretty sight.

We’ll become silhouettes when our bodies finally go.

From the nuclear blast goth of the 80s to the digital blast goth of today.

Control your body, control your angst.

A silent companion


Annual reminder of what has become a silent companion: The quiet stifled anger and sadness that reminds me that so many people care more about “fun” and getting along with everyone in the “scene”, especially with those who have big social capital, than they care about those suffering from those people’s anti-social behaviour. In its worst forms this is nothing but practicising silent solidarity with stalkers, rapists etc.


I hope that I will never get used to it and that it will always make my stomach turn and that I rather keep withdrawing from certain parts of local nightlife and cultural scenes than joining the pathetic choir that silences those who got hurt and who don’t complain loudly and name names because they are well aware that it would stigmatise them instead of the people who hurt them.

Thus the cycle continues.

So old and still uncomfortable with certain social practices,
eve massacre


P.S.: I think I could do with a bingewatching Buffy session. Anyone in?