I was asked, why i do this, pictures with one “rapist” assemble. In this way.
I have to apologize, but I can at this point (yet) don't answer it. It would be wrong to think, that I'm concerned with provocation or a belated Metoo statement. Oh, No! It's something intimate and personal, that is causing me so much pain right now, pain rushes up, that I haven't found a way yet, to write about it. W. symbolizes this inner ambivalence for me, which threatens to tear me apart more and more; through the experiences I had retrospectively with the opposite sex. The ambivalence and disunity, the- unfortunately also there- calls for recovery, for wholeness…. BUT ….. how should i do that, without the other? I should talk about it in a literary form, to tell a story… BUT…. I am currently not writing. And ….. (but) i feel incapable….. to deliver the analysis, to what I express in the collages in the most clumsy way. It is …. No, i already said it. I can't always find a way out through reflection. I feel a big, crushing confusion, a deep sadness. I don't even know, whether I can and should ever become explicit. I was reading Virginie Despentes the other day “Dear asshole”, and thought: No, No, I don't want to and can't work on this topic like that, Not, pouring biting pitch and brimstone over the opposite sex. Oh, No, it wouldn't be that, what I really feel. I am disappointed and also shocked, what I've been experiencing for a while (on dating platforms v.a). The consequence of this, that I only, if at all desired as a piece of meat, reveals a strange mirror in me: I desire (only) or more and more, what I despise(n) should. I desire him and identify with him, who hurts me the most. I feel compassion and love for him, killing me more and more. I do not believe anymore, That I belong on the other side; there; where the healthy the healthy, the normal ones, love the normals. Something pushes me down more and more. What opportunity do I have?, When I see myself in this mirror, that they turn after me? I can only get a cheap one, naive, dirty, interchangeable- and, by every other woman- behold interchangeable deformed doll. I've been just that doll for almost a year now, because other eyes, eyes, who would see me, there is no more. Ergo I can only use this worthless, altering, be a rudimentary throwaway doll, when I need to be loved by that kind of love, the potency is called. power, that I'm dreaming of now, a kind of dream of omnipotence?! That I, so what, then yes …. wants to occur in this potency, Be part of it from its potency ….I…No, it much more than that. And I can't talk about it any longer.