Working our ass off!

Imen Smaoui, Tunisian dancer in her piece, Point
Photo: Vahid © 2006 Goossun ArtLab

MSN

When we, the immigrants, meet each other in Denmark the most usual question to ask is “how ling have been living here?” and “why did you come to Denmark.” Yesterday I was talking to a French guy who has been living in Denmark for six year now. I asked him “how did you end up here?” He said he was here on vacation once when he met a girl. Then he had to go back home to France but kept in touch with the girl via MSN. However they fell in love and all the stuff. And our French man—who was tired of living in Paris—decided to move to Denmark. Upon his arrival he figured out that the girl was now with another guy. He decided to stay in Denmark anyway.
I was thinking to myself “who has he been punishing? Poor guy!”

Freedom-free Liberation

This morning when I was rushing to get my breakfast, I figured out that the coffee I bought two days ago is “caffeine-free” and I did not notice that when I picked it from the supermarket’s shelf. I’m pretty tired of these free-of-whatever-shit products; it takes too much time and energy when I go shopping to make sure that what I buy actually contains what I intended to buy. Since we live in such liberated world everything is so fucking “free”: fat-free milk, sugar-free candy, fat-free oil and shit-free fuck-knows-what!
Some say that the market is dominated and influenced by petroleum, but I’d say it is dominated by big-butt-baggers. Almost the whole world is selling shits that keep the fat fucks imagining they are becoming Barbie in a day or two.
Don’t be surprise if one of these days you hear stuff like: man-free husband, chick-free wife, whole-free pussy, erection-free cock, cum-free jerk and mouth-free suck.
It sux!

Orchestre de Voisin

Since Danes are very sharing and caring people, they have made their buildings in a way that you can even hear your neighbors, scratching their ass. When I moved in this flat at the same time a girl moved in next door. After a while a certain Mr. Boyfriend moved in too. So I just happened to hear them—not very clear though—having sex once or twice. It sounded somewhat like sneezing or giggling which would end up with one and a half muffled screech; and bingo! After a while I heard for a couple of days the very clear sound of the girl, throwing up while I was brushing my teeth in the morning. (I should mention that my neighbor and I have our bathrooms placed right beside each other, divided by a very thin wall which hushes as much sound as a G-string covers the ass.)
Anyway, nine months went by very quite. There was no noise except from the dogs and the guests of the neighbor down stairs who made me think I might as well learn Albanian so that at least I could understand all the fucking noises which were even shaking my wine glasses in my cupboard.
After nine no-sex-no-puke-months, there was introduced a new instrument to the Orchestre de Voisin, namely a crying baby—as the result of that few times of short-lasting shags and long-lasting vomiting—which would top the voice of the furious barks of the dog by the power of forty. Thereafter it became a part of our acoustic being to have this fucking kid crying twenty-four-seven (he is crying just now as I am writing these words.) I kind of got used to the orchestration, the arrangement and harmonic dynamicity of: one kid, two dogs and many Albanians as a standard acoustic form of the environment I live in.
But yesterday morning when I was shaving, I heard the neighboring girl puking with the very familiar and suggestive sound. I must have missed something. They might must have been having sex again while I was in Italy or something. Otherwise I would have heard them. I think Mr. Boyfriend has again—intentionally or unintentionally—hit the spot again.
The only thing I am worried about is how to adjust my ears to the new orchestration in nine-month time!

Fronter

"For every person who wants to teach there are approxi-
mately thirty people who don't want to learn much."

-W. C. Sellar and R. J. Yeatman

Between me and you, I just began to going to school! After more then I-don't-know how many years of running away from whatever schools (except ISTA, the International School of Theater Anthropology whose concept of "school" is a horse of total different color) it feels weird to be among "students" as one of them (or to be one us as matter of fact!) and be seated in a chair in front of a "teacher" who is supposed to "teach" you.
Anyways, one cool think I have encountered in the school is a website, Fronter: an "educational panel." It is an online educational device where the students can interactively communicate with the school and the teacher as well as their fellow students. With Fronter one can stay in touch with one’s studies 24-7 from where-fucking-ever there is an Internet connection (I mean that is if you don’t live in China or Iran and your government have decided to filter Fronter as some sort of pornographic website!) Yes, although its look awfully ugly, Fronter is a very useful tool especially for the school I go to: the Multimedia Design School.
One thin you can do with Fronter is to deliver your “home works” on-line. Everyone has their own folders to put the shit they make in it, so the teachers can delete them without opening them and give you a damn grade so that you would get out of the school quickly and they don’t have to see your fucking face more than the usual two years of the study—unless you are exceptionally good looking. I was checking out the Fronter last night and saw that many of the students have just thrown their hand-ins all over the place instead of uploading them in their own personal folders; just like the five-year-old kids who on the first day at school could not find the toilet and end up shitting in the teachers’ closet!