14 apr 2023

Should I?

My grandma used to always tell the same stories, almost in the same way, again and again.

I lately sense around a strong need to define myself, to be part of a minority to then complain about my situation and the system. And if there is not an evident minority that I could be part of, I try really hard to find one. To repeat and reproduce my weeping narrative. OMG, look at me! Because just if I can show you how much I’ve suffered, then I have the right to be heard, to be provocative, to tell you what you should do, to give you lessons. Should I make a performance about climate change? Or maybe about the war? Or about racism? Or about me being queer? Because just if I can show you how much I’ve suffered, then I have the right to be heard, to be provocative, to tell you what you should do, to give you lessons. I make a video of myself crying desperately, because of something, maybe also big, serious, dramatic, traumatic. Here we are: trauma! I have a lot of them, you? Let’s make a post/reel/story/feed about it and get some hearts. Everybody has a heart! I also want to have my 15 minutes of glory thanks to my terrible and traumatic past, my present struggle, my future realisation at any cost. “Poor guy”, will people say, and then I can finally reproduce and confirm my pathetic existence as a povero cristo, again! People will empathise with me, pity me, comfort me, me, me, me, ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME. I need to find my own bubble, get cosy in it, comfortable. It is a bubble of sufferance, but it’s mine and I love it. Or I fight against it, against my small system, against the big system, against you and you because you are different, because I am different, because you are oppressing me, because you oppress me and people like me since centuries, so I hate you, you different piece of shit! You mainstream Kakka! You minoritarian mainstream wannabe. My trauma, my difference, my position, my sufferance, my story is worse than yours! My position is above yours and I don’t give a shit about your discomfort. Let’s swim into our own beautiful smelly shit. Lovely. There is a war close by and actually I am more sorry about myself and the fact that, with a war close by, I ask myself what am I doing, than about the real people undergoing the real war. And what about my rituals? My way of living! My freedom? My freedom of speech! My politically correctness? My queerness! My awkwardness! My movie evenings on the big screen with the beamer bought with the Corona support that I got from this Nation that does not recognise me, my work as an artist, my position and does not give value to what I do! Poor me! My (grand)parents were always pushing me to do more, to be more upstart, using the failure pedagogy. Be more mischievous, you are too kind, so kind that you are almost stupid actually. Naif de mes couilles!