Chiara Crisafulli

O

day 7

That summer night,
a year after Aris left, like
a brave sober drunkard
I dared ask why. Why did
you disappear? Why did you
leave all of a sudden?
 
                    (I left because I’m young, he said,
                    ten years younger than you.
                    What do you want from me?)

Our first night replayed in my head.
‘Do you feel safe?’ he said, staring at my tears.

So many unanswered questions
and ringing Sunday mornings.

All the shooting stars draw
a path heading for the
green –

I look at my feet.
I think maybe I should have worn
a different pair of shoes.

day 14

Today, after
a run and wrinkled
cravings for Kalamata
olives, I left
the peels of my avocados
and phantasies over a trip to Spain
leaking in a big
black, garbage
bag.

Barefoot
still
wearing
my violet
white H&M running shorts
going
down the stairs. The

touch of my
                 skin on the steps. The taste of
                       my bones on the shiny wooden
                               floor. Beyond the heavy

building door, wind
grabbed my body. Kicked it,
made it scream.

Then
I saw Aris. Unexpected,
ghostly, unreal.

Eyes warm and frozen.

He was sitting next to the gate.
He was texting with his phone.
He lifted his chin and smiled

but I had to let go
of the garbage.
I had to
close the door.

day 28

These days I sleep
less, dumb thoughts
ovulate: heated,
salty eggs for
breakfast, fine leather
biker boots. Cooler,
nail polish
remover.
Bulky breasts as
village
church bells,
loose black locks

shutter my

thirsty,                                                                                                                                               stinging,

darker nipples — like shepherds on plateaus
                    tending to their goats too early at
                        sunset. When I digest my

period cramps,

breath crumbs

like truths

I knead with my bare hands to
strawberry cheesecake. This is how I
                                                                surrender to my body:
to its language so far unknown. There’s no
migration of cells but
rather, in-house
talkers — like hens. They gather close to my cheek,
sometimes it’s my hip or my
left ankle, and lift a

red, thick curtain to
show me a toddler in a
stroller. He squeaks,
laughs and when sucks his
big toe I see he has no
teeth.
                                                      Then I read. A gig. Around you.

Your voice// your lips// move fast /

then slower / and slower /          and          /                    slower       /
                                                                                                                            warming / juicy flow/
saliva / us / moaning /
                                                                                                              brushing kissing/
                                                        …what was I doing…again?

Your stomping chest is no distance I can bear. Ache

pours into
empty
wombs, weeps
dyed words       now


drying —
over the shell of this
full moon

Chiara Crisafulli juggles words, space and un-structures with no desire to restrict forms and/or genres. Her dream is to see ordinary things turning into art—plastic garbage bags, scratches of paint, glimpses of light. Before being a body of work, art is a way of observing (ourselves in) the world. Originally from Sicily (Italy), Chiara wrote her first poem at age 7 inspired by the moon, boredom and loneliness.Her academic background is in journalism, philosophy, teaching English as a second language, playwriting, travel writing and contemporary poetry writing. In the past eleven years, she has experienced living, travelling and volunteering in different countries including Ireland, Holland, Greece, the Canary Islands (Spain) and Portugal. She currently resides in Lisbon working as an interpreter and at her first experimental hybrid poetry book in English.

Γκέλυ Γρυντάκη

ενaς pολemος

Living like bats, or owls
labouring like beasts, οι μάργκαρετ c.
dying like worms

οι μάργκαρετ c. πονάει
• από τα χτυπήματα της συγκατάβασης,
• της ευγενικής απόρριψης,
• τα ωωωωωω και τα αααααα του ευσυγκίνητου κοινού
• τον κρυμμένο σαρκασμό στις υποκλίσεις, κάτω από χοντρά σβέρκα που τραντάζονται από γέλια και lust
• τα τοξικά σάλια στα χειροφιλήματα

η πατριαρχία είναι ευγενής για να είναι πιο επώδυνη, έχει περιποιημένα μυτερά νύχια που γρατζουνάνε στην χειραψία και το οξύ τους καίει για πολύ ώρα μετά

και ε σύ ψάχνεις (μικρά) αναλγητικά αλλά αυτά δεν φτάνουν πια
now the drugs don’t work emily

στο τρανς σου μπαινοβγαίνεις σε αυτό που θέλεις να είσαι σαν εκείνα τα εκκρεμή με τις μπάλες που συγκρούονται πέρα δώθε                                          πέρα
δώθε                                                                                           πέρα
δώθε                                                                                  πέρα
δώθε
αυτή    η    ψευδής    εντύπωση        αι        ω         νιότη         ταc
(φίλε είμαι επιστήμονας.                                                         ξέρω καλύτερα από τον οποιοδήποτε           τι                   σημαίνει                             κενό
καιτιτριβή

έχω αλλάξει 999 πουκάμισα από κερατίνη κι ε ξ α ϋ λ ώ ν ο μ αι λίγο περισσότερο κάθε φορά που
θυμώνω;                 σημαίνει                                 και μετά

η κούραση είναι
αβάσταχτη
για να ξαναμαζέψω
την ύπαρξή μου
και είμαι
πάντα
ένα τσικ
πιο
λίγη)

οι μάργκαρετ c. αγαπάει το μυαλό της       μισεί το μυαλό της
αγαπάει το μυαλό της       μισεί το μυαλό της

αλλά αυτό το τικ τακ είναι εξαντλητικό

θέλει να το βγάλει για λίγο,
να το αφήσει
σε ένα ποτήρι φορμόλη στο κομοδίνο
σαν μασέλα
ή δείγμα σε cabinet de κuriosites

θέλει επιτέλους ν α α ν α σ ά ν ε ι
να νιώσει κρύο αέρα να χαϊδεύει το εσωτερικό του κρανίου της
που καίει
θέλει να νιώσει πώς είναι
να μη σκέφτεσαι τίποτα

ίσως αν καταλάβαινε λιγότερα να σταματούσε (you have the right to remain silent?)
και αυτό να ήταν λιγότερο δαπανηρό για το εγώ της

το αναγνωρίζει

δεν μπορεί όμως να κάνει κάτι γι’αυτό

το εγώ της της αναλώνεται οδυνηρά κι αμετάκλητα
γλιστράει από τις σελίδες τα σημειωματάρια τα folios τα γράμματα τα notes
ξεχύνεται με κάθε λέξη από μελάνι στο χώμα,
το χώμα και το εγώ της είναι ένα βλασταίνουν μικρά μωβ φυλλαράκια βολβοί ρίζες φυτρώνουν μεγάλα σαρκώδη μανιτάρια σαν αντρικά δάχτυλα
που δεν ξέρεις αν είναι δηλητηριώδη
αν δεν τα δοκιμάσεις

α σ κ ή σ ει ς τ α π ει ν ό τ η τ α ς
α σ κ ή σ ει ς εί ναι
βαθειές ανάσες

ίσως αν καταλάβαινε λιγότερα να μην έφτιαχνε ελπίδες από σκόρπια μανιφέστα

η ελπίδα είναι πιο κοφτερή από τα νύχια τους αλλά οι λεπίδες της είναι διπλές
όσο βυθίζονται σε σένα βυθίζονται και σε εκείνους αλλά αυτός ο πόλεμος είναι άνισος,
γιατί η από κει μεριά είναι χοντρόπετση είναι από πλαστικό ή λαμαρίνα
είναι μονωμένη από διογκωμένη και εξηλασμένη πολυστερίνη από αφρό πολυουρεθάνης και χιλιετίες, από πετροβάμβακα, και τόνους αυθεντίας
τόμους αυθεντίας
δεν νιώθει

«ένα ακόμα μικρό τσίμπημα για την πατριαρχία μια βαθεία μαχαιριά για τις μάργκαρετ c.»

οι μάργκαρετ c. όταν πονάει θέλει να κουκουλωθεί να τριγυρνάει με ένα μεγάλο μακρύ γυαλιστερό μπουφάν υαλοβάμβακα που σέρνεται στο έδαφος στους κήπους του Kensington, να καλλιεργεί σαρκοφάγες ορχιδέες και daffodils στα μαλλιά της
να σκαλίζει απαλά τη γη με μια χτένα

να ψιθυρίζει λυπημένα χαϊκού στα
σκαθάρια και τις αράχνες να μιλάει στους
κοκκινολαίμηδες και στις ξανθές αλεπούδες

(που φαίνονται συζητήσιμες και ανοιχτές στο ευγενή διάλογο και την καθαρή επιχειρηματολογία)

οι μάργκαρετ c. όταν πονάει θέλει να πέφτει από παράθυρα να καταπίνει δηλητηριώδη μανιτάρια να αυτο-πυροβολείται στην καρδιά να βάζει το κεφάλι στο φούρνο να γεμίζει τις τσέπες με πέτρες και να βουτάει στο ποτάμι

να κλείνεται στο γκαράζ να
βάζει δυνατά τη μουσική και να ανάβει
τη μηχανή του Cougar της

dont they know its the end of the world cause you dont love me anymore

οι μάργκαρετ c. όταν πονάει είναι το yellow stone το κοζλοντούι και η φουκοσίμα
       είμαι ο βεζούβιος το κρακατόα και το Eyjafjallajokull είναι δύσκολη
          στην ανάγνωση και στην προφορά είμαι καυτή και παγωμένη
              ανορθόγραφη και επικίνδυνη είναι έτοιμη να εκραγεί
                 να καλύψει τον κόσμο με δάκρυα λάβα
                        και να εξαφανίσει τους
                            δεινόσαυrους και
                                άλλα δεινά

οι μάργκαρετ c. όταν πονάει θέλει να γράφει αλλά όταν γράφει πονάει περισσότερο

Gelly Gryntaki is a curator and a writer. She writes about art and other things. She has organized and curated a variety of art projects and exhibitions in Greece and abroad and several of her texts have been published in printed and online media. Her website is https://www.art-cat.gr/

IN THE ABSENCE OF DEMOCRACY

A Rebuke to Government or a Protest Text With No Signature

We belong to the majority, which you do not serve as prescribed by the Constitution.

We belong to the 60.15% who didn’t vote for you.

We are 18 and 27 and 40 and 54 and 65 and 82 years old, people of every social gender who have the right to quality public education and health care, who refuse to work 10 hours a day or live in conditions of precarious labour and stay for years on the lists of the OAED (Manpower Employment Organization), who support egalitarianism and the promotion of equal opportunities as well as the care for vulnerable groups of the population and the protection of the natural environment, which is not destined to burn at some point, as you have the nerve to claim.

Your duty is to take care of the common things, public land, public health care, public education, contemporary culture, the vulnerable groups of the population, the quality of living of all of us. But you are indifferent to your duties. In an unprecedented disdain of the common good, you stand as the junta’s continuers and defend obsolete policies towards critical problems concerning climate change and the planet’s future.

You frequently vote on your authoritarian bills and provisions by way of urgency procedure at the last minute. This way you exclude any discussion and take the social body by surprise, before it has time to react. The mornings find us with even fewer rights. You have not the slightest intention to look after the social body. It stands in the way of policies you promote in an artificially hostile climate.

You’re strengthening the private sector like you’re strengthening hate.
You’re fabricating enemies like you’re fabricating the news.
You’re abusing human life like you’re abusing the natural environment.

You’re using the House of Parliament as your corporate headquarters.
You’re confusing the country with the private fiefdom.

When you undermine the fundamental rights of citizens, migrants and refugees, you undermine democracy. We are the social body upon which you commit frantically and shameless crimes, in order to enforce your antisocial governance measures.

YOU TOOK US BACK.

You took us back when you promoted the police state with the “law and order” doctrine.
You took us back when you reinforced the police with 31.5 million euros.
You took us back when you formed the Campus Protection Team.
You took us back when you attempted to control and censure the freedom of artistic expression.
You took us back when you abolished the General Secretariat for Gender Equality.
You took us back when you introduced compulsory joint legal custody of minor children.
You took us back when you funded the mass media to serve your communication policies.
You took us back when you devised the National Plan for Managing Public Outdoor Gatherings.
You took us back when you introduced the Glamping label to companies that carry out projects in Natura protected areas.
You took us back when you replaced the eight-hour workday by 10-hour workdays.

We’re watching you. We are the foreign body in your authoritarianism. We are disobedience itself. We are your democratic nightmare.

Your government is anachronistic, authoritarian, divisive.
Your government is abusive, misogynistic, offensive.
Your government is antisocial and unconstitutional.

You have replaced the already suffering democracy with tyranny.

We ask for your resignation.

ΟΤΑΝ Η ΔΗΜΟΚΡΑΤΙΑ ΔΕΝ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΕΔΩ

Μομφή Κατά της Κυβέρνησης ή Ένα Κείμενο Διαμαρτυρίας Χωρίς Υπογραφή

Ανήκουμε στην πλειοψηφία την οποία δεν υπηρετείτε όπως ορίζει το σύνταγμα.

Ανήκουμε στο 60.15% που δεν σας ψήφισε.

Είμαστε 18 και 27 και 40 και 54 και 65 και 82 ετών, τα άτομα κάθε κοινωνικού φύλου που έχουν δικαίωμα στην ποιοτική δημόσια εκπαίδευση και περίθαλψη, που αρνούνται να εργάζονται 10 ώρες την ημέρα ή να ζουν σε συνθήκες εργασιακής επισφάλειας και να μένουν στις λίστες του ΟΑΕΔ για χρόνια, που υποστηρίζουν την ισοτιμία και την προαγωγή ίσων ευκαιριών όπως και τη μέριμνα για τις ευάλωτες ομάδες του πληθυσμού και την προστασία του φυσικού περιβάλλοντος, το οποίο δεν είναι προορισμένο να καεί κάποια στιγμή, όπως με θράσος ισχυρίζεστε.

Καθήκον σας είναι να φροντίζετε τα κοινά πράγματα, τη δημόσια γη, τη δημόσια περίθαλψη, τη δημόσια εκπαίδευση, τον σύγχρονο πολιτισμό, τις ευπαθείς ομάδες του πληθυσμού, την ποιοτική διαβίωση όλων μας. Εσείς όμως αδιαφορείτε για τα καθήκοντά σας. Σε μια πρωτοφανή απαξίωση του κοινού καλού εμφανίζεστε ως συνεχιστές της χούντας και παρωχυμένων πολιτικών αντιμετώπισης καίριων προβλημάτων σε σχέση με την κλιματική αλλαγή και το μέλλον του πλανήτη.

Συχνά ψηφίζετε τα αυταρχικά σας νομοσχέδια και τις διατάξεις με τη διαδικασία του κατεπείγοντος, αποκλείοντας κάθε συζήτηση κι αιφνιδιάζοντας το κοινωνικό σώμα πριν προλάβει ν’ αντιδράσει. Τα πρωινά μας βρίσκουν με ακόμα λιγότερα δικαιώματα. Δεν έχετε την παραμικρή πρόθεση να φροντίσετε το κοινωνικό σώμα. Στέκεται εμπόδιο στην επιχειρησιακή πολιτική που προωθείτε μέσα σε τεχνητά εμπόλεμο κλίμα.

Ενισχύετε τον ιδιωτικό τομέα όπως ενισχύετε το μίσος.
Κατασκευάζετε εχθρούς όπως κατασκευάζετε ειδήσεις.
Κακοποιείτε την ανθρώπινη ζωή όπως κακοποιείτε το φυσικό περιβάλλον.

Χρησιμοποιείτε τη Βουλή ως εταιρική έδρα.
Συγχέετε τη χώρα με το τσιφλίκι.

Όταν υπονομεύετε θεμελιώδη δικαιώματα των πολιτών, των μεταναστών και των προσφύγων, υπονομεύετε το δημοκρατικό πολίτευμα. Αποτελούμε το κοινωνικό σώμα πάνω στο οποίο εγκληματείτε μανιακά και ανενδοίαστα σε μια προσπάθεια επιβολής των αντικοινωνικών μέτρων διακυβέρνησής σας.

ΜΑΣ ΠΗΓΑΤΕ ΠΙΣΩ.

Μας πήγατε πίσω όταν προωθήσατε το αστυνομικό κράτος με το δόγμα «νόμος και τάξη».
Μας πήγατε πίσω όταν ενισχύσατε με 31,5 εκατομμύρια ευρώ την αστυνομία.
Μας πήγατε πίσω όταν συγκροτήσατε την Ομάδα Προστασίας Πανεπιστημιακών Ιδρυμάτων.
Μας πήγατε πίσω όταν αποπειραθήκατε να ελέγξετε και να λογοκρίνετε την ελευθερία της καλλιτεχνικής έκφρασης.
Μας πήγατε πίσω όταν καταργήσατε τη Γενική Γραμματεία Ισότητας των Φύλων.
Μας πήγατε πίσω όταν εισηγηθήκατε την υποχρεωτική συνεπιμέλεια των ανήλικων παιδιών.
Μας πήγατε πίσω όταν χρηματοδοτήσατε τα ΜΜΕ για να υπηρετούν την επικοινωνιακή πολιτική σας.
Μας πήγατε πίσω όταν επινοήσατε το Εθνικό Σχέδιο Διαχείρισης Δημοσίων Υπαίθριων Συναθροίσεων.
Μας πήγατε πίσω όταν θεσπίσατε τη χορήγηση του σήματος Glamping σε επιχειρήσεις που πραγματοποιούν έργα σε προστατευόμενες περιοχές Natura.
Μας πήγατε πίσω όταν αντικαταστήσατε το οχτάωρο εργασίας με το δεκάωρο.

Σας παρακολουθούμε. Είμαστε το ξένο σώμα στον αυταρχισμό. Είμαστε η ίδια η ανυπακοή. Είμαστε ο δημοκρατικός σας εφιάλτης.

Η διακυβέρνησή σας είναι αναχρονιστική, αυταρχική, διχαστική.
Η διακυβέρνησή σας είναι κακοποιητική, μισογυνική, προσβλητική.
Η διακυβέρνησή σας είναι αντικοινωνική και αντισυνταγματική.

Αντικαταστήσατε την ήδη πάσχουσα δημοκρατία με την τυραννία.

Ζητάμε την παραίτησή σας.

Virginie Foloppe

Male gaze

“Me Too is a movement, not a moment”. Tarana Burke.
In France, on November 3, 2019, Adèle Haenel spread the Me Too movement initiated by Tarana Burke in 2006, speaking publicly and live on mediapart to denounce the sexual assault of which she was a victim as a minor under 15 years old. My video, which is part of this movement carried above all by survivors, testifies to “une culture du viol à la française”, according to the title of the book by Valérie Rey-Robert present in the image. On February 28, 2020, I joined the demonstrators near the Salle Pleyel, the day of the Caesar ceremony where Polanski was named despite multiple accusations of rape. Then, on the evening of March 7, violently repressed by the police, where I surprised myself shouting with the demonstrators, as never before. And finally on July 10, Place de l’Hotel de Ville after having watched for a call, following the appointment of Darmanin (Prime Ministe accused of raper) and Dupont-Moretti (Minister of Justice ). The sounds that you will hear, I recorded them during these three dates. And, if a book is present in the image, it is because it is an intellectual stone capable of making the eye bleed, a weapon for collective resistance.

The videos of Virginie Foloppe, based in Paris, are short performances. Since 2019, social movements in France have become a great source of inspiration for her, the Yellow Vests, feminist gatherings and demonstrations, where the photographic medium or sound recording have been experimented, while continuing to conduct her research on sexual violence (rape and incest), in video, articles, creative writing, or in his course at the Sorbonne Nouvelle.

Daniela Lucato

My name is Sami

Cinematography: Jacopo Pantaleoni



This video was made during lockdown and finished on 25th April 2020. It is a reflection about domestic violence, human rights and woman condition in all countries. I was inspired by a personal involvement: an old friend I met by chance after a long time told me the abuse she was victim of from her husband. She thought it was painful but she accepted it as a normal condition. I was shocked and I told her she needed to contact the police. I thought about this short talk we had for a long time. I really think the way she accepted this abuse, thinking it was normal, is a huge issue for many women.

This is something that needs to be changed. This topic is for me really important and the work “My name is Sami” is a studio for a bigger project. I feel a responsibility as a woman artist to make people think about it, to confront themselves with this item. I don’t know if it will help to resolve the problem, but this is a start to fight it.

Daniela Lucato started playing theatre in Padua (Italy) parallel to her studies at the university. After her degree in Philosophy she moved to Rome, Wellington and finally Berlin where she works as an actress/filmmaker. The Birthday (2014), her first short film written/directed in mandarin/english language, has been officially selected from 25 international festivals (among these Micgenero, Frameline, ShanghaiPride where the film was also nominated for the best cinematography). In 2015 she founded Connecting Fingers Company. Her last productions for theatre are Connecting Fingers, The Wheel, The rebellious Body. Her last films When I dance (2016), The Wheel (2017) are screen- ing on international film festivals. For the time being (2018) received the award as best in- ternational short film at DUAF/ Tribeca Film Center. In 2019 she wrote/directed the experimental short film Vieni and in (2020) the narrative short Mamma dorme (Mommy’s sleeping). During Covid-19 she wrote/performed/directed the short film My name is Sami.

Carolyn Guinzio

LONG WINTER

A sound and visual experiment about the “loss of power” in all senses. The sound is comprised entirely of altered, distorted, and slowed down household electronic sounds—the sounds of domesticity.

My piece “At Opening” appeared in A) Glimpse) Of), to my delight. My newest book (A) V(ertigo Book) won the Tenth Gate Poetry Prize and will appear later this year through The Word Works. My work has appeared in The Nation, The New Yorker, Poetry, and many other journals. My films have appeared in OzCast, Poetry Film Live, the Cadence Film Festival (Jury winner) and other venues and forums. My website is carolynguinzio.tumblr.com.

Stefana McClure

Poetry-wrapped protest stones, one for each pocket ready to be thrown.

 

No

 

No: a poem by Emily Dickinson, 2 poetry-wrapped stones, left stone: 12.5 x 12.5 x 7.5 cm, right stone: 10 x 12.5 x 5 cm, 2020.

Protest

Protest: a poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 2 poetry-wrapped stones, left stone: 9 x 12.5 x 5 cm, right stone: 10 x 12.5 x 4 cm, 2020.

Riot

Riot: a poem by Gwendolyn Brooks, 2 poetry-wrapped stones, left stone: 10 x 12.5 x 7.5 cm, right stone: 7.5 x 12.5 x 7.5 cm, 2020

Born in Lisburn, Northern Ireland, in 1959, Stefana McClure received her BA from Hornsey College of Art in London and continued her studies at Kyoto Seika University in Japan. She lives and works in New York. Recent solo exhibitions have been held at Josée Bienvenu Gallery, New York (2018); Bartha Contemporary, London (2017); Sleeper, Edinburgh, Scotland (2017); and Arróniz Arte Contemporáneo, Mexico City (2015). McClure has been included in numerous museum exhibitions, most recently Useless: Art Machines for Dreaming, Thinking, and Seeing, curated by Gerardo Mosquera, at The Bronx Museum of the Arts, New York (2019). Her work is included in many public collections including: The Museum of Modern Art, New York, NY; Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University Art Museums, Cambridge, MA; The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, TX; The Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, CT; Staatsgalerie Stuttgart, Germany; Museum Folkwang, Essen, Germany; Kunstmuseum Bonn, Germany; and The Machida City International Print Museum, Tokyo, Japan.

Mez Breeze

A Place Called Ormalcy

“A Place Called Ormalcy” is a dystopian fiction comprised of seven short text Chapters combined with embedded 3D tableaus. The work is designed to be viewed on mobile devices and desktop PCs. The story of “A Place Called Ormalcy” unfolds through a series of snapshots of the life of Mr Ormal, a law-abiding citizen who resides in the aesthetically cartoonish world of Ormalcy: Ormalcy exists in an alternative universe complete with its own idiosyncratic language patterns. The world initially presents as Utopian, and full of innocent “claymationesque” contented creatures and happy denizens, but as the story creeps along it becomes apparent that in actuality, this allegorical fiction in fact traces the makings of a disruptive dystopic society, one where citizens are forced to comprehend what can happen when trapped inside their own homes for the sake of their ‘safety’. It illustrates how fascist principles can arise in the most benevolent of places – the story emphasis lies with how nefarious a process this is, and how this disrupts all.

«Ένα μέρος με το όνομα Ανονικότητα» είναι μια δυστοπική μυθοπλασία που αποτελείται από επτά σύντομα κεφάλαια στα οποία έχουν ενσωματωθεί τρισδιάστατα tableaus. Το έργο είναι σχεδιασμένο για φορητές συσκευές και ηλεκτρονικούς υπολογιστές. Στο «Ένα Μέρος με το όνομα Ανονικότητα», η ιστορία ξετυλίγεται μέσα από μια σειρά επεισοδίων στη ζωή του Κυρίου Ανονικού, ενός νομοταγή πολίτη που κατοικεί στον κόσμο της Ανονικότητας όπου όλα έχουν την αισθητική κινουμένων σχεδίων: η Ανονικότητα υπάρχει σαν ένα εναλλακτικό σύμπαν με τα δικά του ιδιοσυγκρασιακά μοτίβα γλώσσας. Ο κόσμος αρχικά μοιάζει Ουτοπικός, αλλά όπως ξετυλίγεται σταδιακά η ιστορία γίνεται σαφές ότι στην πραγματικότητα αυτή η αλληγορική μυθοπλασία ιχνηλατεί ουσιαστικά την κατασκευή μια παρεμβατικής ουτοπικής κοινωνίας, στην οποία οι πολίτες είναι υποχρεωμένοι να κατανοούν τι ενδέχεται να συμβεί αν παγιδευτούν μέσα στα ίδια τους τα σπίτια στο όνομα της «ασφάλειά» τους. Απεικονίζει τον τρόπο με τον οποίο οι φασιστικές αρχές μπορεί να αναδυθούν στα πιο καλοπροαίρετα μέρη – η ιστορία δίνει έμφαση στο πόσο φαύλη είναι αυτή η διαδικασία και πόσο αναχαιτίζει τα πάντα.
Μετάφραση: Δήμητρα Ιωάννου

Please, follow this link to watch “A Place Called Ormalcy:”

http://mezbreezedesign.com/vr-literature/a-place-called-ormalcy/

Mez first started deep diving into the Internet in the 1990’s to create digital works and she hasn’t slowed since. In 2019, Mez’s Virtual Reality Series V[R]ignettes won the 2019 QUT Digital Literature Award and Mez was awarded the 2019 Marjorie C. Luesebrink Award which: “…honors a visionary artist who has brought excellence to the field of electronic literature.”

Socrates Stamatatos

F*CK THIS COP(ING) MECHANISM

This performative collage/meme depicts the dysphoria that the police brutality creates in Greece. During the pandemic, the search for coping mechanisms in order to survive is desperate. While striving for emotional balance, the government pushes our limits further by strengthening the fear of existing in public spaces. To establish their fascist agenda, they conceal police brutality as their coping mechanism for COVID-19 outbreaks.

With the government monitoring our every move, the burden of creating safe spaces and healthy coping mechanisms becomes a personal matter. Being more than 5 months locked down, getting banned several times on social media, fearing a potential attack while collectively marching, builds a solitude chamber for each subject. The need for solidarity can’t be easily approached, or when it does, it comes with great cost, and gets stripped away eventually.

The Greek government not only vilified social media, by verbally attacking them and consistently banning people’s actions there, but they spent a significant amount of money on the Greek Media( ex. Major tv networks) to promote their agenda and far-right actions. As a result there are not many spaces left to exist, create, get informed, protest.

Being Queer in Greece and taking under consideration the massive attacks on several of our rights, the fear of being present in public places no longer seems like a dystopian nightmare. The nightmare transformed into reality with the collective memory notifying us that this common experience resembles a contemporary junta.
At the same time, the need for self care and coping with this junta keeps getting bigger every day. From a personal perspective, napping is the only outlet left as it creates an embracing and caring space, free from dysphoric thoughts and from being constantly bombarded with new unpleasant information.

Socrates Stamatatos is graduate from the Athens School of Fine Arts, Department of Theory and History of Arts with research focused on contemporary and queer arts. He has worked as an art mediator and assistant curator with many art organizations, such as the non-profit cultural organization NEON. He/She was also part of “FILOTIMO” a project commissioned by the Dutch based magazine “Are We Europe”. The project was nominated as a top recommendation by “The Guardian”. As a drag artist he/she has strong presence in the arts sector and has worked in many projects commissioned by various Greek cultural institutions, such as the Athens-Epidaurus Festival and the Greek Ministry of Arts,Culture and Sports to name a few.

Dimitra Ioannou

THE CITY IS NOW YOURS

The ongoing photo essay “Τhe City is Now Yours” is a kind of palimpsest: in each photo there are traces of another; the magnified surfaces of walls, pavements and signs found in the Athenian Zone are partly erased by portraits of women and feminist slogans or vice versa.

Dimitra Ioannou experiments with narrative or anti-narrative forms in various media (language, photography, publications). She has exhibited her (video)poems, and photos in solo or group shows in Greece. Her pamphlet Electric Sarcasm is out from Ugly Duckling Presse (2020). She is the editor of the journal A) GLIMPSE) OF).

Monica Kim

time at a cross-section

“time at a cross-section” features erasure poems of The New York Times articles from the 1910s-1960s, and erases, inserts, and blacks out words to reimagine narratives that aren’t misogynistic and transphobic. Some poems address gender identity and expression, while others contend with the pressures women face in literature; still others tackle the intersectionality of gender and race to comment on modern-day issues while appropriating older language.

Monica Kim is a social justice advocate and aspiring writer. Born in Seoul, South Korea, she has lived in New Jersey for most of her life. Her writing has been published in The Mantle, Okay Donkey, Thimble Magazine, Stirring, and The Michigan Quarterly Review Online.

J.I. Kleinberg

THE HORIZON

DRAFTS

THE ABUNDANT DARK

BRIDE

VIVID

J.I. Kleinberg’s visual poems have been published in print and online journals worldwide. An artist, poet, and freelance writer, she lives in Bellingham, Washington, USA, and on Instagram @jikleinberg.

Michelle Moloney King

5 miles of coloured pencils in mother’s hedgeschool

Michelle Moloney King, {she/her} neo-postmodern poet, asemic poet, & editor of Beir Bua Poetry Journal / Academic background ~ computer science, primary teaching & Hypnotherapy / Work published in Spillwords, streetcake, Artistic Differences Project, Babel Tower, & others / Holds Pushcart Nom  / Visual Artists Ireland member / 
Website ~ www.michellemoloneyking.wordpress.com