Anonym 13

Page 1


and Editors in chief

photo from the editorial The Secret Reputation , page 32 4

story on page 98


Magazine’s content is not appropriate for readers under sixteen.


Adela Pale, Alain Marciano, Anita Dadà, Boris Sirka, Brittany Markert, Coco Capitán, David Josef Ben-Oni Merta, Dioralop, Edmund Cox, Emanuele Sturlese, Gordon Holden, Irana Douer, Luis Artemio De Los Santos, Magdalena Sawicka, Marine Marbleindex, Mr Peluche, Paul Kwiatkowski, T. F. Tait

Zach Sokol The rest of the team would like to stay anonymous.







Irana Douer, 13


by Brittany Markert






Brittany Markert,

Photographer Coco Capitán (ne Mercedes Capitán) reeks of ambition. The twenty-year-old and former VICE UK collaborator is creating tremors in the London art and fashion scene that will soon turn into enviable earthquakes. Despite her young age, Capitán already has a CV to make your mouth water, including her name on a variety of group exhibitions (one that was displayed at the Riihimäki Museum in Finland last spring), and the opportunity to shoot style icon Nicola Formichetti. Capitán says art “is not about being young or old, it is about really wanting things to happen.” At age eighteen, the budding photographer moved to London from her home in Cadiz, Spain to get a photography degree. She missed the deadline for applications and had five months to kill before another chance at university would arrive. “I didn’t want to do a Foundation degree because it was all about learning how to construct a portfolio,” she explained, “but I wanted to keep taking pictures for the portfolio I already had.” A friend told her VICE UK was looking for interns, and

soon she was doing the intern dance: coffee runs, licking envelopes, dodging thrown phones (jokes…) This opportunity led to Capitán’s building professional relationships, including a friendship with Sam Voulters, VICE UK’s fashion editor. Not only was she able to actually shoot for the magazine, but her personal blogspot, Cocoladas, includes a stamp that marks it as part of VICE’s blogging network. Capitán is now a student at the University of Arts of London, but continues to work on her art at a breakneck rate. She has a sponsor that gives her the support “to create a powerful portfolio for the day I finish my studies,” and she hasn’t wasted this opportunity. Last year, Capitán was part of several group exhibitions as . One, titled “Six Collection,” was part of a series called WeArtCadiz, which featured eleven artists from Capitan’s hometown who are highly regarded in Spain’s contemporary art scene. “Six Collection” included six models making the same poses in the same type of room, but from their


Coco at home, self-portrait series 21

collage-style 22

Coco at home 2, self-portrait series 23

The first photograph Coco ever took at age 8. Picture is of her mother. respective homes. Six different men pose with hands covering their eyes in six different bathrooms in six different homes, for example. Her focus on portraiture will be continued in the artist’s upcoming (and secret) exhibition, due sometime in the next several months.

Capitán describes her style as “a sober reflection or reality,” and this comes through in the work displayed on her site. Models are often presented in a stark and unadorned manner, without the make-up and stylization of typical major fashion magazine spreads. Her subjects appear before gray backgrounds 24

or are captured doing mundane things, such as browsing through old Vogue magazines in a bookshop. In tune with this unprocessed and subtle ideology, she told the publication Life Style Bazaar that she insists on using “black as the main color in my palette and basic forms and shapes. I try to escape from vintage, I am tired of reusing ‘the old.’ I want the new stuff.” While this appears true in her photographs, as the pictures do not recycle old photography tropes, it would also be fair to use the word nostalgic when describing the work of Coco Capitán. “I think I am a nostalgic person,” she noted. “I often forget the present by thinking about the past (or the future, actually).” She often uses a 35mm camera (that wistful lens!), and her blogspot includes collages that combine images such as models and landmarks with a childlike sense of wonder. Many of us remember cutting images from magazines apart in our youth, pasting them together in the way we best saw fit. The return to childhood playfulness and curiosity is present in Capitán’s photos. Despite referring to her art as “play” and insisting on using the word “game” over “work,” Capitán is making serious moves. She will soon graduate from school and will undoubtedly catch the attention of those outside of London – it’s only a matter of time. She is an elegant and admirable young artist, and the way she expressed herself when we spoke utterly reflected this truth. I’ll leave you with an unedited response from Capitán, which she answered after I asked “What excites you most about photography today?” It is too articulate to be edited. “I’m not sure what to think about today’s photography panorama. We are in the most democratic period 25

of photography since its creation, in the sense that everybody is familiar with taking pictures and sharing them instantly. It is one of the most powerful tools of communication, and we don’t even think about it. If you are young, you will probably find yourself spending time thinking about which picture represents you better (or which image you want to talk for yourself) to share in a social network. This is almost saying that we are using pictures to tell others who are we. Never before have images been this powerful in our ordinary life. This is also reflected in the enormous quantity of pictures we produce everyday and this brings us to the questions: are we talking about images? or photographs? And what makes a photograph different from an image? And an image-maker from a photographer? I don’t have an answer for that. Sometimes I find something I want to understand as a piece of art in the most vernacular image, other times I find images completely out of context in renown art galleries. Apart from a few accepted facts, today’s photography is just a matter of opinion.”

by Zach Sokol

We Can Has A.L.F.?, 24x18, acrylic on wood


Panda, 16x20, acrylic on board


Precious, 18x24, acrylic on wood


Kitty Kitty, 5x7 each, acrylic on board




Ridiculous Limits series, by Edmund Cox

Katarina Gyu by Michal Pudelka in his garden


The red dress was made in exactly three minutes and twenty seconds from unknown fabric found in garbage. The vintage shoes are from Katarina’s mother who danced in them through the seventies. 33

Top borrowed from Michal’s stripper-cousin. Rouge Yves Saint Laurent. 34




White Chinese nails. Flowers that usually grow up from Katarina’s head on Sunday, as a result of a strong believe in spiritual life, can be also used as an accessory. Biological material from man (sperm) used as a rouge, because she likes it. Bulb on Katarina’s head gained from her adventures. White wedding dress made five minutes before the shoot from a kitchen curtain.

Katarina in her resting pose. Black dress designed by Michal for Katarina it can only be worn while gardening (with exception being this shoot). Shoes made by little Asian kids. 38


During her everyday exercise. 40

Shiny silver swimming suit with sparkles on the back, which you can’t see. Katarina says it was a gift from her extraterrestrial friend from outer space. She claims to have evidence to prove it.


Nylons from Michal’s styling closet, worn by many models before. They go perfectly with the shoes from ZARA (a brand that uses hazardous cancer-causing dyes). Black and white skirt from Michal’s mother. Top made of a plastic shopping bag. No flowers, trees, apples or vaginas were harmed during this shoot.





Who are you ? Invented name: Magdalena Relationship name: Sawicka What are you ? Species: man Gender: female Delivery year: 1990 Where are you ? Area of distribution: Eastern Europe (Poland) Natural environment: bar, bedroom (studio) What are you made of ? Materials: global tissue, mental organs, skin Where are you going ? Area of migration: mass community, interior, exterior, subconscious









My name is Luis. I am unsure exactly where I came from or if I even want to figure that out, but I believe I was conceived in Mexico and trained in New York City before falling in love and running away to the Czech Republic. What I do know, however, is that I grew up in America always facing north-- wanting to be like them; “The perfect ones�. My main focus these days is on acculturated youth and memories of my parallel upbringing.















The aim of this article is to discuss deviation, to present an objective view of this topic and to point out its position in art.

It’s not a violation to have a deviation. Everything happens for a reason. We are used to specify that, which is out of our standard as deviant. This statement naturally brings the label ‘unnatural’ and a negative manner into the act of perceiving. Deviation becomes an aberrancy against the moral laws that have been set; against the society; against the persons involved. That divides today’s society into two sides. One side represents the ones who adore deviation, as the yearning for exceptionality increases in the modern age and the ones who shock become admired. On the other side crouches the wrinkled conservative British nationalist grandmother who has never been out of the country in her life and has never seen a vagina which did not belong to the family before the late 19th century and who, not by her ambition, must get offended whenever confronted with the obscene contemporary arts. From history we know different examples of handling deviation as well but none of these have been ideal. What’s worse? The Aztec Empire -- where thousands of people have been ritually murdered in the name of celebrating deviation and death, or the church with it’s mass inquisitional killing throughout centuries in the name of repressing deviation, in the name of good, claiming that witches are needed to be eliminated, murdering thousands of innocent people, as well? Neither of these attitudes is right, as standards change with evolvement and what is perceived as deviant nowadays has not been so in the past and opposite. Morals change with evolvement; the rising level of education brings comprehension to previously despised topics. It is important to realize that to a newborn everything has been already set, his thoughts and opinions are affected by local rules and morals. More than that, it is important to realize who sets these rules, to educate and to decide for ourselves if we agree and choose to believe as well, or disagree. Wisdom and knowledge lead to understanding; understanding leads to differentiation ability, which leads to appreciation as one learns to appreciate the positive and to repress the negative. The position of deviation in art is quite clear. If art is supposed to be personal reflection of the artist’s mind and visions and not only a product created on the demand of actual art market, it is important to hold on to whichever topic is dwelling in the artist’s mind. Only personal artwork can be perceived as high-quality, for that reason it is important to give space to those, who deal with deviation and to try to apprehend the artists’ messages even despite the form which might be far beyond your given moral standards and to try not to get simply offended or shocked, which is of no use.


Fire garden



Who are you ? Thinking and feeling flesh, pussy magnet, narcissistic dreamer with gerascophobia, split person, stylish motherfucker, gourmet of sour taste, horror fanatic, mixture of Syrian brown bear and Spanish Lover, cute puppy in the morning and old dog in the night, gamer, addicted to female beauty and themes of death, dark matter believer, stoner and lover with an attitude.


Night vision 71

What are you ? I am full time artist, mostly a painter with ambitions to be a musician. Also I am a singer and soundscapes composer in drone / dark ambient / audio-visual project BIOS (Â


Where are you ? I am here, on the small, blue oasis called planet Earth. More accurate, I’m in Bratislava, Slovakia. Before this, I lived and studied at the Faculty of Arts in Kosice. I grew up in Snina - a small town near the Ukranian borders.


paintings from Shibido series

What are you made of ? 30 billion cells. Where are you going ? Six feet under, but before that I will leave heritage for the next generations. 74



Fetishes (84 min, USA, 1996) Documentary movie directed, written and produced by Nick Broomfield.


77 77


Tell us a little bit more about yourself, who are you, how old are you and where are you from? My real name is Emanuele Sturlese. I’m 27 years old and I was born in Italy. I’m a small-town boy who decided to move to the big, sparkling Berlin. I’ve lived in Berlin the last five years of my life. I still love living here in this dynamic city, since it allows me to get in touch with other creative people with whom I can collaborate and share ideas. I started taking photos during my studies at the Fine Art School, where I graduated in Multimedia Arts with a thesis about the cyberpunk illustrator Prof. Bad Trip ( In the last years I’ve shown my work in several cities, from Rome to Berlin. I’m always trying to create events that mix my art with my friends’ music and performances. What does art mean to you? Art = constancy. I think that real art is when somebody expresses himself everyday (or almost, no matter which medium) just because he 79

cannot avoid doing it. Art is like an extreme, superior force, which controls and moves you. You cannot dominate it, but rather find out the best way to channel it. Your self-portraits are quite moving, can you tell us more about them? Actually, I almost never do self-portraits. I just sometimes shoot macro pictures of creepy things and tell people it’s a hidden part of my body. I like baffling them without taking myself too seriously. By the way, I like it a lot when other artists want to take shots of me or want to use my image for their illustrations. I’m always curious how I’m reflected in their artwork. What other types of art, besides photography, are you interested in? I think I’m interested in every kind of art. I always presume to know exactly what is good and what is not. Since I live in a big city like Berlin and since I’m surrounded by artists (or at least supposedly so), I became more selective and picky. In Berlin everybody can show their own art, which is for sure a good



thing and it’s even the reason why I’m still living here. Nevertheless, sometimes I wonder how this saturation might have changed my personal point of view. What exactly is the X Laboratory Project and what is your connection to it? X Lab is a non-profit and experimental project dedicated to counter-cultures and underground art, opened in July 2009: from street art to video art, from live painting to urban installations, from experimental music to body performances. More than a place, XLAB has become a container of ideas and exchange, a transit point and meeting place, a fluxing area, a growing team of creatives who daily meet to cooperate and experiment with new artistic projects. The space is currently led by Paola Verde ( I collaborated with X Lab as a curator for some photographic and illustrative exhibitions. We have also worked together in Milan to create the multimedia event “Corrosive Container” at Spazio Concept and we will organize soon a great exhibition for the next edition of Drop Dead Festival ( Do





rently have on my desktop a folder called “Fotofike” (Cool images) where I save all what capture my taste: from Vogue fashion photos to insect’s encyclopedia sketches. Two of the artists which gave me more inspiration while in high school were Jan Saudek and Hans Bellmer. I still think about all the videoclips that I saw in the nineties, too. What’s your favorite place on this somewhat-lush planet? I love to travel. The photos I’ve sent you are from a series called “From Guvano to Samothraki through Berlin.” I started this series casually last year during my holidays in Italy. It is deeply linked to the life experience of the person portrayed in each series´ picture. Moreover, the photos in this series are strictly connected to the geographic places where I took them: from Italy to Greece, trying to transform those locations in something unrecognizable, into grey areas. Do you dream? What do you dream about? Usually, it´s very hard for me to remember my dreams. Maybe this is because I cannot avoid to smoke my beloved goodnight joint.

I love toasts.

Tell us about your latest projects...

Who are some musicians that you admire?

During the last year I collaborated with several artists like The Church of Synth ( the-church-of-synth) or little brands like ekolovesanimal (http:// Besides that, I continue to collaborate with the monthly queer party Homopatik. Recently I started to help organize another cool party in town: Drone Berlin.

There are so many! One of the last personal breakthrough is Bestial Mouth, from LA, which of course I contacted for a shooting. I’m really looking forward to collaborate with them. Here you can listen to a raw mixtape, which I’ve created for an Italian blog ( discordant-d1n-compilation-n2/). What artwork has moved you most? I love sooo many artists... I cur- 82




Photos from the series ‘From Guvano to Samothraki through Berlin’ by Emanuele Sturlese


Kiss 2 by Gordon Holden


‘Night terror’ by Marine Marbleindex

Who are you? I’m Marine Marbleindex and I was born in Bordeaux, France in 1988. I’m a girl who loves to draw. I love to create, it’s like I’m in a playground with my pencils and other tools. I enjoy drawing lovely girls with fashionable clothes in amazing situations. It is so amazing to draw beautiful things inspired by art photography. What are you? I’m a girl who loves watching modeling, fashion, mannequins. Photography was the beginning of my process in becoming a pure artist - the real dream. I draw a lot of women. I like the special beauty and love that comes with their presence on the podium. I like women with big eyes and big mouths and triangular faces like my favorite model, Sasha Pivovarova. I’m really inspired by fashion designers, like Josefin Arnell, Meadham Krchhoff, Masha Reva, Denis Andreu. I love to see how they dress my characters. It’s like playing with dolls and clothes but it must be sexy. Where are you? I’m in Bordeaux, France. I grew up in a town next to Bordeaux, so beautiful - I can remember the long walks in the woods and the natural landscape. I have so many memories of the city itself, but it’s so different now. I live in Bordeaux now. It’s such a beautiful place. I love the city and I love the atmosphere. I have all my friends here.



Le jugement de la reine (The queen’s judgment)



What are you made of? I have a sentimental side. I never draw boys, but when I met my boyfriend, I finally drew one. But my favorite thing is to draw girls, so I think I’m made of love, stress, sexy things as well, and music like Yelle and D.A.R (https:// I also really love to dance! I’m just the happiest girl <3


Where are you going? In my dream I would like to go to Moscow in Russia during the winter because the landscapes are really beautiful, plus I like the language and Russian girls. Maybe I will go to Russia to collaborate with a fairy tale writer and illustrate a book for a fashion designer. I would like to make an exhibition, a big one, during a fashion show <3 I wish and hope that people will love my work more and more.


94 95



Enjoy Your Day by Gordon Holden,











I have always said: I’m not a model, I’m not a photographer. I’m Anita Dadà, based in Rome. All my photos (with minor exceptions) are selftimed. Seldom I ask to anybody who is with me to shot the photo (according to my rules and my point of view) The Magazines said about me: SEXY SURREALISM - EROTISATION OF EVERYDAY LIFE UNDERGROUND NUDE ART - INDIE NUDEwith a peculiarity: when I posing nude I dont show my face. 108


photos from the series “Goodbye Francesca Woodman”, by Anita Dadà 110




Become a nun!


We are waiting for you. Apply on:



by Paul Kwiatkowski




120 121



My first name is Alain, and my last name is Marciano! I am not a photographer (although I’d love to be) but an illustrator. I started drawing at the age of 15 or 16; I copied comics and then I invented stories of Marvel-like super-heroes. I started to draw because I wanted to do something special; all my friends did something special - piano, sports etc. and I did not so I started to draw. It lasted 3 or 4 years and then I stopped and started again about 3 or 4 years ago (that is 30 years later). But very early I realized that I loved that. And drawing became important to me. Collages are a more recent hobby. Once I tried a collage and it worked. I mean I liked what I did. But I find collages difficult. It’s like a sculpture, or sampling music. I find that using bits and pieces made by others is more difficult than creating everything. Being able to gather pieces of paper and make them fit together is too complex for me. I do simple collages, but collages in which my drawings can add something extra to them. The common denominator between my collages and my drawings is that I want to show different levels of reality; I want to break the reality of the photography in different pieces. I want to reconstruct reality through drawings.







I am an up-and-coming micro-sculptor and miniat(o)urist. I am currently based in the wonderful Berlin. I have been working as a street musician, and have experienced life as an “outsider� in the most accurate sense of the word, namely outside. Consequently I began working with 1:87 plastic scale figures about 1-2cm (0.4 – 0.8 inches) small, which I assemble, (re)paint and compose for the lens of my camera in order to re-animate them and their respective surroundings.






photos from the series ‘My summer of love – Make love not war’ by Mr Peluche 135


by Adela Pale







Adela Pale 143






by Andreja Bistricic & Maja Merlic


D 149

“Intergalactic Soul Delirium II: The Elimination of Officer Kilgore Trout” By: T.F. Tait II.

Things are not going well. The Bro-King has enslaved Kilgore into a battle to the death. At this point he won’t even attempt to stand, if he did he would surely fall flat onto his face, and yet he’s successfully keeping his composure. To him (Kilgore) this is suffering, but to the Bro-King this is art, his art, his method of overcoming the outside, evil forces surrounding him, conquering, claiming his will over nature. And there can never be art without suffering, one can say. “Another Absinthe Sperm!” A voice calls out. They’ve lost count. Kilgore can’t even tell how many people are in the room, things are doubled, tripled, floating and twirling like a slipshod performance of Swan Lake. The crowd surrounding them is silent and focused. It’s like they’re holding their breath, afraid that the slightest change in the room’s density will cause one of the artists to make some faulty maneuver, ultimately making the entire competition void. Gulp. Down the hatch. Another sperm is waiting. It’s fucking staring at him the face, laughing with a hideous, toothy, shit eating grin. It goes down with some added effort on Kilgore’s part. The crowd shutters. Whispers from a couple bystanders. Two of the Bros bet 100Kc that Kilgore is going to go into cardiac arrest. There’s sperm everywhere, floating around in his stomach, in front of his face and whispering in his ears: Sperm. Sperm. He can’t shake it. If he keeps this up he’s going to turn into a sperm for Chris sakes. I mean you are what you eat right? Or drink I suppose (heh-heh). Another one. Things are becoming ambiguous, murky, Kilgore can feel himself entering a void, it’s surrounding him like a round, gigantic disc, like heaven, or perhaps the green, rubbery vacuum of hell. He can smell the taint of its nothingness. Or maybe that’s just the considerable amount of liquor he’s consumed burning a hole in his intestinal lining. Sluuuurp. He can’t make out the figures surrounding him, they are ghosts, mere outlines. There is a moist piece of flesh in his mouth, pink and muscled. Teeth surround it and lips surround the teeth. It is nice, and for a moment he feels unalone. But the abyss is growing. All of a sudden he’s falling into it, the massive black void, it swallows him up, and he dissolves into the immense, swirling specter of its oblivion. Well folks, now something a little weird happened here—and don’t ask me how the hell this happened—but it turns out Kilgore is now in his own cock—well his balls to be precise—actually reduced to a teeny-tiny spermatozoon, surrounded by his entire gamete family tree. Oh hey Mikey, how’s the kids these days? No time for chit-chat soldier, nuh-uh, this is bizness . . . Officer K. Trout now notices a streetlight in front of the giant army of sperm cells and its getting warmer, the stationary red light on, things are vibrating, getting stimulated, stirring stirring and everyone’s totally focused on that little red light, waiting for the 150

exact moment when they can race, race, race for the prize, the light at the end of the tunnel. Suddenly it flashes to green and BLAST OFF! Now everyone is swimming and giving all the chutzpa they can possibly muster, heaving, panting, pursuing the magic, gleaming light. Its getting closer, soon it will be here, all surrounding, like a giant disc from above . . . The light surrounds, it’s percolating through the tiny cracks of the shutters, sprinkling drops of luminosity on Kilgore’s nipples and brow. He rises out of bed and looks around the room, at the armoire, desk, a bookshelf half empty. Where is he? III.

It took approximately 3 minutes for the paranoia to set in, a crippling psychic stress that slowly tip-toed its way into Kilgore’s bones, and before he knew it he was galumphing around the room looking for the slightest clue as to his approximate location. His search would be going a lot better, but naturally he is exceptionally hung over. He feels sort of like he got hit in the face with a mountain, if that is any clue. And his stomach; well, lets not even go there. Oh yeah, and about a minute into the search he realizes he’s ass naked. He puts on his Stetson, thinking that the pressure might relieve the foul mess inside his head, but as expected nothing changes. The room is small, only one open window and potted plants on nearly every flat surface offered. Judging by the room color—a magenta carpet with light orange walls—Kilgore assumes it is the abode of a female, and starts fishing through the cluttered desk, through the jars, bottles, candy wrappers, half empty coffee cups, wine bottles and cigarettes assumed to be left over from the night before; there’s a half empty can of salsa next to a bag of chips, condoms, chicken nuggets, a Raymond Chandler book (Jeez, whoever he spent the night with is an absolute slob), cough drops, and then it hits him. Jessie, you dumb bastard. He picks up an opened envelope with her name and address on it. At this moment in time, of absolute realization, he can’t tell if the weight he was carrying around in his stomach, the delirium of being totally and completely lost, disoriented, and misplaced, died, rather quickly, or just welled up into his throat and made him want to vomit like a little baby. Well yeah but then where the fuck is she? (Yep, the paranoia is not gone, that’s for sure). Did they get her? Man O Man, she was totally for sure kidnapped, man . . . What the fuck am I gonna do? Now, lets not jump to conclusions here, Kil. Sure, things look super fishy, but maybe we should try to take things slow, maybe try to find out some info., you know, with the internet or something. Isn’t that cool, that you can share all sorts of information like that, that you are exactly the same exact distance away from finding out how to get in touch with Jessie and massive amounts of pornography? Just the click of a button. O yeah. Well I’m totally and completely lost, thought Kilgore to himself as he stepped down into the cobblestone streets surrounding Jessie’s apart151

ment. Haven’t been lost this bad for several years, not since ‘97 when me and Cherokee Joe met those cannibals in Southern Africa. Luckily at that time Ignatius rolls up, tongue hanging out of mouth, and jumps up to greet Kilgore with a big lick on the face. “Wow!” Said Kilgore out loud. “Is that really you Doggo?” He checks his underbelly for reassurance. Luckily there he finds a brown spot of fur that is shaped like a tetrahedron directly above his left thigh. “It’s really you! Let’s get into town and save Jessie!” Ignatius takes a shit on the street, and then begins trotting away towards the nearest tramvaj stop. That way they can take a short excursion into Old Town, where hopefully some information about Jessie and this mysterious Globus Corporation can be revealed. On the walk down the street they run into a young man and woman. “Hey, killer hound, brother.” “Oh, danke schön. His name’s Ignatius. Had him for a solid 11 years and he still looks like a spring chicken.” “Yeah man. Hey, you want a cigarette?” “Do bears shit in the woods?” They both light up a Camel. “Oh yeah, and this is my girlfriend, Petra. Like the Greek word for stone or sort of like petrified shit, except she doesn’t smell like that. More like fungus growing on an aspen trunk.” “Like what?” “Like fungus growing on an aspen trunk a.k.a. the sweet scent of hibiscus languidly in the summer breeze a.k.a. a gaggle of beavers building a damn in the Adirondacks a.k.a. the salty radiance of the ocean breeze a.k.a. a stag immediately after a sun-shower in the middle of August a.k.a. when you make birthday cake but you put in 1 cup too much baking soda a.k.a. precious dandelions dancing in the summer moonlight.” “Isn’t that sorta presumptuous?” “Nah, man.” “Groovy.” “How old are you?” “Hey, I’m actually looking for a lady as well. Perhaps you can lend a hand. Do you have a computer?” “See, I knew you were an old-school kinda cat. It’s 2011. Yes, I have a computer. And Internet access on my phone at all times. But right now I’m heading to campus, I have class in 20. Wanna come? You can use the Internet there and find out everything you ever wanted.” “Sounds good to Uncle Trout.” “Then follow me.” So the four hop on the next tram that arrives, and it’s approximately 20 minutes until they arrive in front of a sandstoney sort of colored geometric building in the city center. It turns out its Charles University, and Kilgore’s newfound acquaintance studies there, majoring in Visual Praxis with a minor in Storytelling. They enter the front door and are immediately accosted with horrific smells. “Sweet dancin’ Jesus in a dress that’s some exceptionally evil smelling shit,” Kilgore says. “Oh no,” says the student. “This is big shit.” 152

“Please elaborate on this smell.” They stroll down the hallway and observe the horrendous scene. Students are galumphing down the hallways, with pale faces, eyes nearly rolled back into their brains. “I’m not kidding. Big shit. Probably diarrhoea.” “Excuse me?” “This has happened before, but only once.” A student looking strikingly like a zombie drags his body up to them and then vomits onto the floor. The students surrounding them are either lying on their backs, or sprinting to the toilets to let out a nasty excretion. “What the fuck is this?” “The internet is down. Everyone reacts differently around here. It’s sort of hard to get used to life without it. Sometimes you just gotta lay down because there’s not too much else you can do if you don’t have the capability to surf the web. And lying down is usually your best bet, because the withdrawal makes you feel totally shitty, like you just woke up from the worst hangover of your life except you’re kinda wired too and can’t fall asleep for hours. And then there’s “the tweaks”. Little compulsive twitching that creeps into your joints and you sit there clicking an invisible mouse, staring in front of you except your not really looking at anything. That’s the one that freaks me out the most and it only happens to serious Net-users. Last time it happened I just wound up talking a great deal louder, I felt like I needed to make up for the absence of constant music or just the presence of a kind of anonymous, digital noise or something. Actually, I might need to go.” He runs down the hallway, pushing the zombie students out of the way and rushes into the closest commode. You can hear the noise of him voiding himself echoing down the hallways, accompanied by the moans and whimpers from the throats of wasted students and children. It all dissolves into itself, into an unspecified, nameless racket as it enters Kilgore’s cochlea. For a moment in his bones the Internet is round, a giant disc that surrounds him and everything ever—an infrastructure of interconnected networks and diagrams and data and numbers that is undetectable but simultaneously present and infinite at all times—like Heaven or the green, rubbery vacuum of Hell; its neither here nor there and yet it is everywhere. But behold! Where is it now? Where is Kilgore now? It was this, now it’s that. He can feel himself being dispersed, dissolving, being crushed by the machine into anonymous digital noise . . . But there never was anything but the atoms and the void, claims Democritus . . . Yet how sweet, how loving, how wet, how noxious, how kind, how warm, how light it is . . .




The Internet Saved My Life by Gordon Holden












Staging Leigh Bowery Kunsthalle Wien Museumsquartier hall 1, October 19th, 2012 - February 03rd, 2013

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Nick Knight, Untitled (Leigh Bowery with Scull), 1992 Š Nick Knight


See you in print. 158

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