Wenn Sie dies lesen, sind Sie entweder schwul oder nicht. Sie können sich also mit mindestens jemandem von uns identifizieren. Stellen Sie sich unseren Aufruhr vor, als wir die Wahrheit über Frida Khalo und Diego Rivera erfuhren. Wie schockierend es war, herauszufinden, dass es nicht Leo Trotzki und Frida waren, die es trieben. Tut das nun unserer Auffassung ihrer grossartigen Partnerschaft einen Abbruch?

Die bürgerliche Ehe ist das Urgeschwür der totalitären Ausbeutergesellschaft. Sie steht nicht nur für eine vertragliche Regelung von Besitz- und Herrschaftsverhältnissen und für die heteronormative Dichotomie von Frau und Mann, welche die Idiotie des Götzenglaubens an Natürlichkeit von Geschlecht und sexueller Orientierung nährt und sozial nur unter dem Joch des zivilisatorischen Reproduktionstriebes eine Vereinigung zulässt. Sondern auch für die Tristesse von monotonem Beischlaf und einem wortlosen dîner pris en hâte.

Also fordern wir parodierend die Absurdität des Ja-Worts heraus, um die bourgeoise Zweisamkeit auszuhöhlen. Um Zwischenmenschliches aus der Zwangsjacke des bedrückend Normativen und der Funktionalität zu befreien. Um der Travestie zu frönen. Um exaltiert unsere beiden Daseins in saturnalischem Exzess zu feiern.

Eingetragene Partnerschaft. Ehe. Begriffe, die gewisse Ideen umreissen und andere ausschliessen. Sei der Ursprung des Wortes Ehe, das ewig geltende Gesetz, als welches sie wahrzunehmen wir gezwungen sind, auch unbekannt, so erfüllt sein eigentümlicher Geist es noch immer. Dasselbe Wort nun für eine andersartige Verbindung verwendet, lässt diese sich der herrschenden Definitionsmacht entziehen. Es wird umgedeutet und umgewertet, um schliesslich überkommen zu werden und der Entfaltung in und von Partnerschaften Raum zu geben.

- Nina Gämperle

Unsere letzte Dankbarkeit gilt der Kunst, dem Wagnis ohne Welt und Wahrheit. Unweigerlich begegneten wir in ihr Ferne und Dauer, dem aus deren Verschränkung entspringenden Keim einer andersartigen Daseinsform. Der Sprache dieses ewig Bewegten entlehnten wir die Tilgung der Spuren der Ursünde, als Negation dessen, was als umworbenen Götzen der Gewissheit über den Ursprung in der Dingwelt fortwest. Diesem Leichnam führten wir sodann die reine Kathexis des Ichs vor, wie ein dunkler und ein heller Strahl desselben Brunnens eines von aller Zeitlosigkeit an auf Absolutheit gerichteten Eros.

Homayun Sobhani – Immer sind wir trunken; ohne Wein/ Immer sind wir glücklich; ohne uns.

La Fontaine

11/11/11

La Fontaine The manifesto for the combat against the eternal Given and for the aesthetics of the eternal Moved

If you’re reading this you’re likely either gay or not gay. So you can identify at least with one of us. Imagine the outrage we felt when we found out the truth about Frida Khalo and Diego Rivera. How shocking to discover that Leo Trotzki wasn’t actually doing Frida. But does that make a difference when it comes to our conception of their great partnership?

The bourgeois marriage is the resulting ulcer from the exploitative totalitarian system. Not only does it stand for a contractual regulation of structures for property and dominance, and the heteronormative dichotomy of woman and man which feeds the idiocy of idolising the innate naturalness of gender and sexual orientation, and permits them to union in the eyes of society only under the yoke of the reproductive cravings of culture. But also for the tristesse of monotonous cohabitation and a wordless dîner pris en hâte.

Hence, we’re challenging the absurdity of „I do“ by masquerading to carve out the belief in the dried-out coexistance. To liberate the interpersonal from the straight jacket of the oppressive normative and functionality. To indulge in travesty. To exaltedly en- gage into saturnalic festivals to honour both of our existences.

Civil union. Matrimony. Both concepts, contouring certain ideas and excluding others. May the origin of the word matrimony be evanesced, the legitimation of motherhood derived from the eternal statics, as which we are forced to perceive it. Though its idiosyncratic spirit is reassuring. But to make usage of that word in order to imply another form of partnerships, it will be wrested away from the regnant hegemony of definition. It will be reframed and reassessed to finally being overcome and make room for unfolding of and within unions.

- Nina Gaemperle

Our last gratitude is meant for art, the audacity to venture beyond subsistence and truth. Inevitably therein, we met distance and endurance, the seed of an alternative reflecting their entanglement. The annihilation of traces of the original sin, we borrowed from its language to negate what has been decaying within the world of objects as the wooed icon of certainty about genesis. Towards this corpse, we paraded the pure cathexis of the Ego, as dark and bright streams of the same fountain, bearing an eros directed from all eternity to absoluteness.

Homayun Sobhani – Always are we drunken; without wine/ Always are we blissful; without us.

La Fontaine

11/11/11

However, before we get into what it is that you need to do, I want to tell you a bit about how it was that I came to live in Switzerland. You see, I come from America. There, in school, I learned about “Freedom”, “Liberty”, “Tolerance”, and “Democracy”. Eventually, I understood that these were high minded concepts that few people ever truly contemplated, resulting in even fewer of these ideals being realized. And so it was, I set off to discover a land where these principles held fast.

I’d heard of an 800 year old Democracy, filled with neutrality, acceptance & toleration; a place where Wars were seen as the barbaric backwardness of small minds and even smaller hearts; a place where Humanity was valued and the society was nurtured. That place I’d heard of was named, “Switzerland”. What a grand Public Relations campaign that had been. Imagine my shock to discover that America was, in fact, an older Democracy than Switzerland, and that despite the Swiss never officially holding slaves, there was an even greater Prejudice that extended well past skin color and into the unidentifiable – Passports, jobs, income levels, speech, age, gender … really all the classics that, at least at an institutional level, America had dealt with over 60 years ago.

Now that I have been here for some time, it is clear to me that your party is the party of the Dark Ages, and, perhaps more clearly, your party is the leftovers of the Nazi’s that were not stamped out like the cockroaches they are. Unfortunately, where I come from, we have some like-minded folks who would rather see the world in chaos and fire than peaceful co-existence. With that, I put forward my qualifications for helping you. You might even find it more comfortable to know that, if you follow my suggestions, it will be the Final Solution. You see, my experience in understanding the simple minds of Fear Mongers, their perverse desires of incest and power, the lengths to which they will go to effectively shoot themselves in the foot due to their innate short-sightedness and deep seeded ugliness within their tortured souls, makes me the perfect consultant to offer this advice.

It is simple, and ultimately, Evolutionary: Kill Your Self. It is so simple that you can do it alone, though, I recommend the Final Solution equally for the Family. Your children shouldn’t be burdened with a world you could not accept – do them a favor and kill them as well. Could you imagine leaving your wife to be assimilated into an Auslander world? Surly not! Therefore, the Final Solution is for her as well! You see, the whole family can take part! And best of all, once you’ve implemented the Final Solution, you will never again need to worry about those pesky Auslanders.

In closing, I wish you the best Suicide a Swiss can get – only the Highest Quality should suffice. I can only hope that when I wake up tomorrow, the news will report on the end of the suffering by the Swiss People’s Party at the hands of the Auslander. Don’t wait! Be the first on your block to embrace the newest Final Solution!

fucking boring nigger – i wouldn’t own you even if they didn’t own me.
where’s your back bone!?!?
all right, so you can stick a quick jab.
I’ll be yer huckkle berry.
its never like it is in movies -
the asshole never wins
and the girl always goes to someone else.
well, fuck ‘em.

If you want to dump me,
but don’t want to deal with my drunkenness,
send an SMS,
or, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing,
fire me off an email.
trenbar that verb,. bitches.

Leave your punchy bastards at home.

You are dancing like a butterfly,
but he stings like a bee;
half black man wants to say
it’s for a good cause…
But you can’t save Humanity
after you killed your own,
you see?

I wish I would’ve met you,
Mohammed Ali,
before you started shaken’
so violently.
Some say it came from fighting’
others say it’s a disease -
I think it comes from
a case of Dual Reality.

See, back in ’68,
you took a stand -
said it wasn’t right,
negro killin slopes
for a rich white man,
But every fight you won,
the niggers did lose
cause a Rich White Man made money,
even when they bet on you.

She in black cotton panties
and me dreaming an affair,
Better we don’t go there.

My hand trembling upon her thigh,
passion racing to dare;
Better we don’t go there.

Honest confessions into the gut,
I won’t so easily scare;
better we don’t go there.

http://www.npr.org/2011/03/28/134855801/private-prison-promises-leave-texas-towns-in-trouble?ps=cprs

assholes.

i would punch someone in the eye
if an eye were near by.
I was looking on the way home
but we’re all so GOD DAMNED safe here -
not a thing to worry about
except God.
Well fuck you and your God:
I’m building a minaret to sing of Satan
5 times a day.
I pee in your snow and lakes and rivers.
I pee in my own. you’re not so special
that I would go out of my way for you.

i’ve been different since I stopped
wanting to be different. I’m going to die lonely.
waste, paste, taste haste.  we’re dying
and we’re all saying Greetings!
Have you no idea,
the impending doom you carry over your ears?

I will tell you a hat will not save you.
Do You Want To Know How I miss You?
I break an ankle so I won’t visit. (with a chair and a table -
it’s crude and derelict, but I won’t walk to you)
I miss you by cutting my tongue out from my mouth,
and reaching deep in, to grab my voice, and tear it out
(like so many stolen radios)
I miss you by cutting my heart out with a prison-sharpened spoon.
I will Not Miss You. I have done this before,
and broken, torn and cut
is better than missing a love.

Winston Come Home,
we need you this Instant!
You’ve 10,000 off-spring
and they’re getting us
1 by 1.

Oh, Winston,
Don’t you remember
where home is?