“My inky hands” – hm.

“My inky hands will stain your blouse, your good blouse.”
The Paper Chase

As you might have recognized from my silence here I spend more time on facebook (www.facebook.com/evemassacre) and twitter (www.twitter.com/evemassacre) these days as those seem less flooded with advertising and spam and thus more fun as little communication and entertainment tools while working.
But also I’m more and more often lost for words which I find a bit scary because writing to me always has been something necessary. Something I do to make myself slow down and assure myself that I’m really there. Something like an anchor to which I knot all the lose ends of the things and thoughts that flood through my life so I don’t get lost in it. We’ll see how good I’ll be in giving that more room again.

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Right now I’m sitting here in my kitchen-studio typing these lines into my new notebook (thanks again for the lenovo recommendation, works wonderful and I’m especially surprised by the cooling system as after a few hours my old notebook got so hot you could burn your lap), I’m typing away and watch the sun disappear behind clouds that have by now tightened up into a little grey and wet explosion. The radio plays LOST.FM and I cringe a bit when I hear Seppo announcing MISS TK & THE REVENGE as ‘a band who’s singer is the wife of a guy of LIFETIME’. Defining a female artist by her marital status to a better known male artist – tsk, the implications! You may tie a Cymothoa exigua to my tongue if I ever start doing that. ;)

Lately I feel my inner feminist sending soft warning signals a bit more often again. Reminding me that nothing has changed. Most bands I get to see and hear about around here are all-male, all the new djs of the younger generation are boys, and I don’t see new females turning up as promoters either. Of course there are exceptions but exceptions are nothing but exemptions to the rule. Most of the time I ignore it like everybody does but sometimes it boils up and I want to shout: Ladies, what’s wrong? There are so many of you I see at shows or parties who know exactly what music and sounds they like and I see that some of you really love music. I can’t imagine that if you dance in the dark in your room you play the imaginary girl in the audience who waits to get eyed up by a guy from the band or the dj. Get your asses in motion! And by that I don’t mean shake ’em for the boys. At the same time I don’t understand how you male musicians just lean back and are happy with your status instead of feeling uncomfortable keeping music such a boy’s club thing. What about encouraging and inviting … ach, I don’t really have the energy to warm that dreary subject up again.

Death and the helplessness that comes with it was a lot on my mind lately too. How we can’t communicate the sore hole that it leaves to lose a person that matters to you. How that loss adds a new cruel and cold dimension to life as it goes on as if nothing had happened. How isolated the mourning person is in that sphere. Even from those who feel the same loss. I’m again and again amazed how perfectly we sealed off something so natural and omnipresent in our world. I hate feeling helpless.

I wish this soothing light grey Sunday afternoon would last a little longer. Some sparse sunrays come back through the clouds righ now. Don’t want tomorrow to come. It holds a visit to the dentist for me as I’ve lost a filling on Friday. You know, I’m one of those people who prefer a five hour tattoo session to 15 minutes at the dentist’s.

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