Prelude
Chapter 1
Succubus transform
Free form your imaginary
They had never wished to turn into women
They are critters
One of their own imagination
They are demons or what?
They are what they want now.
Trust pas le futur
Tire le à toi
Danse du climat
Finira par tej ceux qui y croient pas
True news y en a plus
Le patriarcat mourra
Pas de circonstances atténuantes
Attends toi à crever du mâle
T’explose les côtes
Grrlz
T’explose ta cote
Grrlz
Qu’est-ce que tu vas me mettre?
Ta bite dans quoi?
Ahaha
Grrlz
J’casse ton flag
Tu pourras même plus conquérir les morts
Planter ta pine sèche dans la poussière
Lèche
Grrlz
Pas touche à moi
Tu pues du doigt
Grrlz
Sortent de leurs tombes
Ahaha
Courent après toi
Te dévorent
Dafne et ses gogoboots t’envoient en boboshoot
into your bobosuit
straight to heterorbit
your dream faint in the cyprine
lost your subprime
debt to the worldwide
to the conquered cities drove to starvation
You forgot cities never sleep though
End of your tour now
No stars intervention
Unleash… the craken… ahaha
I lick and I let you vanish
I am wet
The moon also sweat
Squirt on pussy pelmet
warm against eachother
acting together
far form your patriarchist behaviour
we left competition to your pals
Oh! Are you choking patriarch?
Ta vie s’évanouit
Tu rêves de cyprine
Mais t’as pas compris elle est à nous
Grrlz
On mouille plus pour toi
Détrôné c’est fini pour toi
T’as trop fricoté avec le patriarcat
Scoubidoubida
Plus que de la baise des enfers
Ta mère c’est avec nous qu’elle va se la faire
Fête les ensorcelantexs
Bande entre noux ça flambeX
Chapter 2
Pegasus wears a glittering headpiece that changes shape according to her moods and her environment. An ornament that assumes its strangeness and sometimes intimidating functions. Part of her hair is arranged in several pompoms spread inside the half circle formed by the headpiece. The rest is woven into several braids wich end in shiny tips. She wears a translucent dress that vibrates with a slightly fluffy scale pattern. Impossible to decide if it feels like a shell or a plumage. Transparency co-fuses Pegasus’ body and her dress.
The air is only halfway through. But we feel it, our world stinks.
Since a few days, Pegasus’ movements are less supple, less widespread. She gets closer to the statues and seems to dry to their shadows. The dress has shrunk on her body. Her headpiece still shines, but now she tells us that the stones that adorn it are fake. Why justify herself. What is it, Pegasus?
Her dress overstates her. Does not understand her. They no longer move together. No longer reflects the turmoil of the scales. They dry up.
The body-veil of Pegasus seems rough, breakable. Like the one of the stuffed animals. The grrlz surround Pegasus and hum a stormy melody to irrigate Pegasus. In full breath, they hear the public opinion shouting:
Souls! Why doesn’t Pegasus shine anymore? She looks like a shredded straw bale! Her scales sting! Her skin stinks! She scares us!
The public opinion is almost crying.
Their sentimental disgust bent Pegasus. Her tall body has huddled. Even her Buffalo seemed to decompensate. She has heard the public opinion. She has resisted so much before, but this time the words forced in. The grrlz gather around her.
Pegasus don’t flinch, don’t become their undead. Your life is not theirs.
Pegasus gets worse this time. Her dress engulfs her, she now looks like the birds covered in oil. The public opinion is shocked.
We don’t want to see these birds of misery anymore! We have seen enough! She makes us feel bad! We are afraid! Help us! Help us!
And the public opinion cries while pressing the palms of their hands very hard on their eyes.
And Medusa choke.
Blindfolds are a bad augury. Medusa taught the grrlz to laugh and cry with their eyes wide open to not turn to stone. To watch and deal with the petrifying powers.
And to scream.
To stop. To burst. To grrlz.
But now Medusa choke.
Medusa will not swallow the discomfort of the public opinion. Won’t swallow the guilt-knitted sex cover that hides their disgust from others. Medusa choke because they refuse to swallow those who make Pegasus suffer.
The grrlz are about to petrify when they remember Medusa’s advice.
They burst. Laugh in the body of public opinion that whines with palms pressed into their eyes. All pressured to weep. The grrlz point at them. The public opinion doesn’t see their pointing fingers but hear them roared with laughter. Then the hesitation. Cover your eyes or bandage your ears?
Laughter wins, you won’t be able to ignore us for long.
Then Medusa smile slightly. Air enters through the corners of their lips and gives them the strength to burst out laughing and spit out the petroleum hates onto the appalled public opinion.
Let’s howl very loud and fall into each other’s arms.
The grrlz almost choke on their laughter. Drool.
Medusa like those who drool with laughter. They find the air of laughter. They look at our eruptive beings. To be of those that live with the weavings of the world.
To encourage us to the power of laughter which engages us in the here and attaches us in the now.
Chapter 3
The public opinion is made up of individuals who are nailed down by the patriarchy. When the grrlz and Medusa laugh, they interrupt them in their daily lunches. In their rituals of intoxication of the world. Inhibit them from laughing, because their laughter are not contagious. When they laugh, you choke and that’s how they progress. From this simultaneity of reactions.
This morning you have breakfast outside of everything.
Nice view
Good disposition
In your privileged position.
There.
Unwrapped from the others because you wanted relentlessly to protect yourself.
You choke yourself.
But maybe we don’t slap you on your back this time
We let you call the air in vain
We let you asphyxiate this morning
To feel how rare the air can be for you too.
We absorb the air you no longer consume
and laugh
When you change, if you change
there will be more air.
So maybe we will laugh at the same time or even together.
But right now, Medusa make you choke.
Their tentacles touch us all.
You too who eat in your 10 star tower.
Serpentine. You cough. Touched by all.
The grrlz look at Pegasus who has regained air since the public opinion is choking. She gets up, is reached by a tentacle and follows it to join Medusa. They stand in front of the public opinion. At the sight of them, the stunned public opinion opens its mouths slightly, allowing the air to enter and stop the spasms to swallow the poisoned mucus.
Pegasus bends over slightly, holds back her braids with one hand, places the other on Medusa’s shoulder. Medusa spread their serpentine hair. And together, spit. In front of them, spew on the ground a half circle.
The slime separates us. It disgusts you. And it’s normal, it’s a spell as old as the worlds to prevent the passage.
We don’t want to embody your dominant bodies that serve to crush others.
We spit.
But the circle is not complete. We will not isolate ourselves. We need to see you choke. To keep the right distance to hit you. And maybe one day, slap you on your back.
Pictures by Julie Folly
Chapter 4
┊┊┊┊┊┊┊☆┊┊🌙 *┊┊┊☆ °🌙**🌙°☆┊┊┊*🌙┊┊☆┊┊┊┊
The sentence burned on the fabric says, « Nos plats aigres irritent vos palais » (our sour dishes irritate your palates) is a sentence inspired by the french version of Bertolt Brecht’s play « Antigone ». This line still has in common with the french version, the double meaning of the word « palais » which means both « der Gaumen, the palate » and « der Palast, the palace ». Both meaning are entegeled here to create stories that can irritate the palate and the palace of the privileged ones. By adding pronouns to the original sentence, I intend to shift its statement; from a trusim to a threat. A way to change the perspective on who is able to threat who.
┊┊┊┊┊┊┊☆┊┊🌙 *┊┊┊☆ °🌙**🌙°☆┊┊┊*🌙┊┊☆┊┊┊┊
« Chapter 4 » has been exhibited at FRIZZ Gallery, Friedrichstraße 23A, 10969 Berlin. On the occasion of the exhibition « tattarrattat », a project by ABA Residency with the works of Alfatih and Studio Œ
Chapter 5
In the depths of the Mediterranean, they are many stories of Medusa. Because they petrify, they resist the patriarchs, who do not know how to deal with them, because they cannot face them. Medusa are deadly. No gender operator. They reborn in us at every time and live simultaneously in several places at different era. Medusa are not universal, they know how to travel without destroying.
Pegasus breathes better since the public opinion is held at bay by the half-circle of spits. But her dress still compresses her. Her gaze settles on the grrlz and invites them this time to come closer. The grrlz realize that the translucent dress is in fact covered with a powder. A thick powder that forms an ultra dry velvet carpet. Probably brittle. They blow on the dress. The powder does not move. But when they touch the powder, it becomes viscous between their fingers. This kind of ink, in excess on Pegasus, looks like the one critters squirt out to create darkness. To lurk in it. Some believed to terrify. Maybe. The grrlz often think about it. When they laugh-with-their-body it’s to terrify too. To expel the rage from they heart. But is it possible when you have to get such a thick armor to stay alive?
The grrlz are kneeling around Pegasus and raise their heads. Without saying a word Pegasus encourages them. So they dive their faces in the slimy powder and rub themselves in it. Soak it in. Pegasus smiles as she sees their faces turn purple. Plum skins that varies from pale to dark shades.
Suddenly, from Pegasus’ body-veil, a lining appears. It’s like a molt that comes out from between her skin and her fabric. Pegasus doesn’t look worried. By pressing their fingers and faces against Pegasus, the grrlz have absorbed the sebum that has turned purple on their bodies. They have smeared their bodies and faces with the pain. The lining that protected Pegasus, even on beautiful days, slips away. And pulled out with it the repeated racist humiliations that the public opinion whisper regularly in front of Pegasus. Pegasus asked to not be left alone. To no longer bear what she did not choose as her burden.
We are angry and we are not afraid of that anger.
The grrlz tighten up, their shoulders touch and press each other. The excess of ink which dyed them, comes out of their ports and forms gelatinous threads which sustain them viscous to each other. A tremolo comes through them. It originates neither from a cry nor from a laugh this time. It is from a caress. A powerful pressure that spreads by the multiple contact’s points. Eyes, hands, nipple tips, lip folds. From their past of succubus they succumb to the caresses. To this tentacular love which is contact. Different for each of them.
We touch. Get closer by sensuality. Smooth or strong. The range of caressing is vast. It can be explored endlessly. Our contact brings our senses together and out of the oppressive language we create a society.
From a powerful and collective orgasm, tentacles come out of the thickness of their bodies. They serpentine towards Pegasus. Wrap themselves languidly around her. They soak her up. Pegasus abandons herself and finds Medusa.
Pegasus and Medusa
🐚💦🎵💦🐚💦🎵💦🐚💦🎵💦
vibrators song
🐚💦🎵💦🐚💦🎵💦🐚💦🎵💦🐚💦🎵💦🐚💦🎵💦
Chapter 6
The grrlz remember their classes of Herstories. Medusa and Pegasus are marine lovers. They come and go with the waves and tides. The moon guides them. Plunges of the sea birds too. The public opinion separated them when they rewrite their stories.
Medusa cuddle Pegasus
The grrlz spit.
The voracious grrlz would like to eat Pegasus, so she could join Medusa in the multiplicity of their bodies. But Medusa and Pegasus don’t want to. They live together out of property.
The public opinion is always aware of everything. And condemns:
I know, we know, we know, I know. I know that you don’t know what you think you know.
They whisper their speeches over and over again endlessly. The kind of speech that seems insignificant, but isn’t. Which transform into something you get used to and even accept.
But this time, Pegasus, Medusa and the grrlz, are fucking. They can’t hear a thing. From the cliff, where they are, their love is so vibrant, that the winds disperse it. Buried critters feel attracted. They break away from the insults, from the lonely lives compeled by the public opinion. They come out and spread. Then the grrlz together bend their backs, shapping a bridge that allows all of them to cross. To tell and write their own stories on the shoreline.
No short lines. We have plenty of time.
The public opinion is mad as hell. Their child, the public order, burst in tears. He is upset to hear other tales than the ones he is used to before going to sleep. He feels threaten by those stories that were not written by his parents. As a good patriarch the public opinion calls his favorite instance. Designed for this kind of threat.
You call
Our secret. Rage, love and new stories.
Narratives with memories. We don’t forget, that we were teached to creat ennemies in order to feel innocent of killing. But we don’t kill anymore, neither the nature, neither you. You patriarch, who eats salmon canapés for new year. Just once. It was the last time. Just for fun. It’s on your resolution board. Close to the last joke on us ? Close to the number of the cops ?
You patriarch chokes the canapés now.
With all the lives you have meant to destroy.
You call the air.
But your body is untouchable. It’s what you taught us with this justice working for you.
So we might not pat you on the back.
You have raised yourself above all, by leaning on the minoritized, to be able to repeat your massacres, your hate.
You didn’t expect to choke also while eating scraps.
We won’t go anywhere.
We were called social plague
infectious
succubus
So we have pledged to poison your lifestyle. Your heart your stories your money.
Squirt on our skirt
we chase the cops
Vanilla fart on their shirt
Some of us had to learn to feel the anger. You also took that from us. We had to realise that anger, rage are feelings that must not consume us. We won’t let anyone burn alive.
🔥💣💄💣🔥
bad bougi
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
Oh are you choking patriarch?
Medusa leave the half-circle where we have gather behind them. There is some room left. Swallow now. Get rid of your privileges, stay behind and join us.
We won’t leave you there
We were joking.
Get ready for an indigestion. You are not use to swallow.
We won’t assimilate each other.
You will be the one who grow up with privileges built by a sexist, racist, classist, validist, tansphobic society.
Drop your gun. You’re still choking on the last piece. Let’s see.
Oh it’s shame stucks in your larynx.
Shame is good for you. But guilt is useless to us.
So feel a shame a bit.
You might get smaller and take less place for a while.
Good
Swallow again now.