In Other Wor(l)ds Workshop - The Stories

Below you will find the text transcripts of seven science fiction short stories, written collectively by eight participants of the workshop entitled 'In Other Wor(l)ds'. The stories were written on September 6th 2008 at Ladyfest Amsterdam by Brigitte, Anne, Sara, Diny, Caroline, Nina, Anouk and Tea.

All stories include two subjects: Bo, the human and Vlar (or Vlarrr), the non-human character. We did not specify their gender or any other characteristic. The only rule concerning the plot was that Bo and Vlarrr have just met and that they are busy running away from – or towards – something.

Each participant began to write her own story. Fifteen minutes later, the text was passed to the next person who read it and continued writing for the next fifteen minutes. The pieces were passed on until every person has written a part of every story – and we had seven stories in our hands!

The transcribers, Anne, Urška, Tea and Caroline have copied the handwritten texts without omitting possible mistakes – in fact, we probably added a few. All the stories can be cut up and the paragraphs rearranged and read in any (dis)order you want. Enjoy!

Thanx to all participants and Ladyfest Amsterdam for making this fun workshop possible!

Greetings from Whileaway,
Tea.
 
 

Story 1

Vlarrr is escaping in the shadow of the hovering craft. For a second xe hesitates, the passengers platform of the space craft is only an easy jump away. Should xe take this chance, maybe the last chance, to safely escape and return to the hall. The earth eruptions and solid rain roaming around doesn’t bother xem anymore and the silent heaven promised there above is more a threat than a rescue.

All of a sudden the unthinkable happens: everything stops moving, all sounds have stopped. It’s like somebody hit the 'pause’ button. Vlarrr slows down, only hears his own breathing, the sound of his blood running through his veins. Everything around xem remains frozen in the same position. The silence and the quiet are so relaxing. Who has ever imagined the world to freeze like that? But Vlarrr is not at ease. Xe is on xes guard. This standstill might as well be over in a few minutes.

‘Are you coming?’ The silence is broken by a sudden voice coming from the aircraft’s entrance. The person who asked is hidden behind the wall, protecting him/herself from the heavy air pressure that dominates the entrance area. Vlarrr only sees an extended limb, shaped like a metallic broomstick, gesturing for xer to enter while xe still can. The person on the ship does not expect xer to decide, the decision, like the sudden, involuntary exodus from the upset Earth, has already been made.

Vlarrr approaches the air vehicle with caution, the silence cut, the tranquility of just some seconds ago is long forgotten, like it never happened, like this – the vehicle, the turbulence, the extended iron hand – is all there is… left to grasp. Vlarrr holds the iron hand, feels xerself lifted and brought to the platform like xe was weightless. There, behind the door, the creature reveals itself – it is really nothing more than a broomstick, an iron levitating broomstick that makes xe roll xer eyes in disappointment.

‘Great’ xe murmurs, ‘just what I hoped for, a brand new world filled with old gadgets, with dust piling up in the corners of the engineers’ imagination, caught in the matrix of house choirs, a house wife planet awaits!’ The broomstick makes a circle in the air, approaches like a large mosquito and says:

‘Bo’.

‘What?’

‘Bo. That’s my name. I will be your guide. I’ll dust the starpaths for you.’

‘Dusting starpaths? What do you mean?’ Vlarrr, who had never liked cleaning in the first place, imagined that starpath cleaning had to be some kind of a sick joke making sure that noone would ever have any time left again. Imagining the size of the universe the broom might as well be a toothpick, or a nano toothpick. What an idiot xe had been getting on this damn vessel.

‘I’ll show you’, said Bo, before she started spinning and spinning rapidly, so fast that from the movement the outline of a cylinder became visible. The shape moved towards Vlarrrs eyes and xe found xe could look through the shape, as with binoculars.

‘Stop, cut’, a disembodied voice calls, the scenary fades, like collapsing buildings. We are on a stage, thought Vlarrr … oh no, not the Earth again! It never seems to work out. But hey, what’s this? What had been a being to dust the starpaths now is a small heap on the ground with an elaborate head set on, huge sun glasses and dozens of wires attached to her back, arms and legs. Vlarrr could tell she was female. How? Well, the bulges at the chest, the bright red lipstick. Should I wake her up, Vlarrr thought? Vlarrr moved silently over and gently tapped the stranger on the shoulder. Immediately the Bo creature springs up, bund behind her glasses and throws a huge kick into the air.

‘Back off you bastard’, the Bo creature screams. Vlarrr glides back. Where Vlarrr comes from no one greets each other like this.

‘Bo creature’, Vlarrr says, ‘What’s the matter?’ The she-Bo-human jerks, pulls a knife out while struggling to flick the switch for her glasses.

‘Listen mister, I just wanted to be alone and if you know what’s good for you just go’. Vlarrr groans, xe will never understand humans. In an instant xe disappears.



Story 2

‘Bo-bo-bo-boring, this is boring, my comrade!’ said Vlar, the strange traveler I have met on my way away from the damned boathouse, the place I dare not think of too much because it makes me shiver and shake, makes my hair stand up straight. Well, it did until I met Vlar. We’ve been walking in silence for more than 15 minutes; I was lost in my worries. He or, actually maybe, she, was entertaining herself with kicking empty beer cans into the muddy dark river. I looked at Vlar again, grinned in an evil kind of way, letting that street kid know that I am not here to help, not here to share, not here to make friends… indeed, I am Bo the Boring, heh.

‘For fucks’ sake, Bo, say something’, said Vlar, ‘like, where are you taking me, where do we go. I’m hungry, I wanna stop, sit down, eat a falafel.’

I looked at Vlar in disbelief. Falafel?! Now?! ‘Vlar, please shut up and walk’, I said. He did. And I figured it’s time for me to tell him what happened at the boathouse, why s/he saved my life in the split second s/he decided to walk with me like we’ve known each other forever.

In fact, I had known him/her longer than today but this s/he did not know. Since my childhood I had always been fascinated by aliens and such. When I grew older that had disappeared. But the past weeks I had had a recurring dream. Actually, it was a nightmare. And this damn kid, this ugly creature was one of the main characters in my dream. I always woke up in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat. For some reason, I was not surprised when I found her/him sitting at the table in the boathouse. S/he was expected. I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance if I didn’t kill him/her. But for now, I would try to make the best of the situation.

‘Let’s go swimming’, Vlar said when we got to a wider section of the river.

‘What, in this water? Swimming? That’s disgusting!’ I replied. The wider section of the river was actually worse than the narrow parts because along the shallow edges floating garbage was mixed with the water plants creating a thick blanket on the murky waters of the river. I thought s/he was joking but Vlar ran towards the water, took off only a jacket and slid into the thick, dark river. A strong smell hit my nostrils and almost made my stomach turn.

‘That’s disgusting, you freak!’ I started saying but lowered my voice when I realized the smell didn’t come from the river but from the jacket. I sat down on the bank and watched Vlar moving through the water. If s/he hadn’t been so ugly and strange, if the river hadn’t been so filthy, it could have been a little like the park I used to go to with my little sister. I would watch her playing just like this and probably, I would have been getting ready to take a dive myself. But all that didn’t matter now. Vlar is someone to get rid of, I repeated to myself, someone who could make things way too complicated.

The splashing had stopped. I looked up at the river but I didn’t see Vlar anymore. Damn, I need to get rid of her/him but not like this. I stood up and eyed along the banks. The damn alien had swum over to the other side and was now picking algae from the deserted over-blooming water-cleaning ponds.

‘Delicious!’ I hear her/him screaming; while I’m looking careful around that no one has heard or seen us.

‘Will you come back’, I shout carefully… as carefully as one can shout in a valley river bed. But why should I wait or care about this impulsive creature. Impulsive, unplanned moves aren’t what has kept me alive so far. That isn’t what took me to that boathouse but now I’m quite happy about the instinctive impulse that saved me and got me out of there. That is why I am still here. I owe her/him one. Or am I just tired of being alone. Ever since I left I felt the urge to talk to someone, share my memories … But Vlar wasn’t a perfect conversator. I wonder what was going on in her/his head anyway. Maybe some dark thoughts? Or naïve feelings? Or maybe nothing at all.

Vlar is a strange creature. But also one I didn’t really trust. What if s/he would tell anyone what happened on that boat. We had a murder on our minds, but I didn’t want to be punished for that. I could put the blame on Vlar, but Vlar could do the same to me. I had to get rid of her/him. Vlar was approaching me now. So what will I do? How do you kill someone? A shiver went down my spine. I had to do it now. Vlar gave me a hug, something I didn’t expect. Then s/he padded me on the head.

‘Have a nice life’, s/he said. I couldn’t speak. I just couldn’t find the words. Vlar was leaving me? I stood there, still watching Vlar walking away. I watched her to the end of the horizon. Then I turned around. I had been so ungrateful. Vlar had saved me and I never thanked her/him. Each night I hope I’ll dream of Vlar again, so I can say ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’, but Vlar never shows up.

I’ve never seen him/her again.


Story 3

‘Don’t!’ she screamed. Arms stiff against the door. Foot jammed up hard against the base. The sounds outside were alarming. Not so much the yells, the thuds, the crashes, but the feeling from the sounds that everything is falling apart, ripped from the inside out. Asunder. She’d stopped counting how long she’d been inside. Here was a bubble of time it seemed, a place outside time perhaps. But now she was here listening to the world fall apart. And now, here, there was someone trying to get in.

‘Hey!?’ she thought, ‘We’ll see about that’, thrusting now the whole of her body against the door in its heavy steel frame. Acrid smells started to reach her through the small window at the bottom, where she at always irregular times, not night, not day, received her food.

‘Stop!’ She let out a blood-curdling cry. It was refreshing, so refreshing to hear her own voice, to hear it rattle through her chest, burn her throat, like bleeding out all the pain in one abrupt gush. She almost didn’t care that there was someone… something trying to get in…

The heavy steel had begun to buckle in a very unordinary way. Not that there was anything ordinary about what she was now experiencing but if it was ‘them’ whoever placed her here, captured her or ‘them’ who she now had only the vaguest and distant memory, to whom she belonged, it wouldn’t be doing that to the material. She knew something very odd was happening. Was she saved? Had they trained her to react with fear or where did this scream come from? If she screams at the top of her lungs, that silly instant voice, they will think that I am scared. From her fingers, from deep down her toes she feels a totally different wave of energy, a confident, resisting, strong and very much alive strength…

She remembers this; her body remembers this now, a body, and a strength that is used to speak up. To take space and yes scream but scream the way she knows it. Scream in attack, in defense a scream for fight and for victory. Whatever is coming through that door, she is not going to be scared. She feels that her body will know how to defend itself, though she cannot really remember. She decides to let it in, to invite it even. Women have always been taught to keep their doors locked, never to trust strangers. But maybe sometimes it is better to leave the door open, be ready for adventures like the big boys. She took a deep breath and opened the door.



Story 4

The smoke had driven Bo out of her hiding place. From the deep bowels of the planet smoke had started to rise up through the vast system of caves and tunnels, eventually reaching the one that had been Bo’s home over the last few days.

Fearful of what might be waiting for her outside, she wearily looked out into the open. Even thought the smoke had already made her nauseous, it would for sure kill her if she inhaled enough of it. She was still glad to see it had spread a light grey mist across the valley, making her chance to get away unseen a lot better. She pulled her scarf tighter over her mouth and nose, took a deep breath and started running.

Because the rocks she has used before for orientation now all looked alike in the thick fog rising up from the many holes in the ground, instead she turned to the shape of the mountains for orientation. The glow from the planets’ many moons still outlined them so she headed for the highest one, hoping to find clean air behind it. Because she had stopped paying attention to the floor she was running on, Bo didn’t see the big bulge on her path until she kicked it, hard.

‘Swoomp’ was the strange sound and she was even more surprised to find her foot being stuck in the bulge. It was very soft and sticky, instead of hard like all the rocks around it. She had to pull hard to get her foot out, slluurrp, and then the bulge moved.

Bo was really tempted to investigate what just happened to her. Was this creature alive? Was it out there to swallow her? So she would vanish and could never tell her story to anyone… Bo decided to keep running away from the bulge and towards the highest mountain. She almost got there when a similar looking bulge speeded into her direction. She ran and ran, as fast as she could, but the bulge came closer and closer. What was this thing? She was going to find out soon because it grabbed her leg again and pulled her in the sand. Her mind became dizzy… she was panicking… What was happening?

The bulge had pulled her into a sort of underground tunnel. She fell further down. She couldn’t see anything because it was dark as night. She could only feel the soft, moist walls of the tunnel as she was sliding down. Where was she and where was she going? Suddenly she fell down on a floor. The tunnel spiral had ended. Or at least it didn’t go down vertically anymore. Bo used her hand to guide her. There was an opening in front of her that she slowly walked through. It was still very dark but somewhere in the background of the opening Bo could see a red light. It became brighter. Bo realized that it was approaching her.

‘Bo’, it cried, ‘where have you been?’ The thing knew her, how could that be? Now on her guard there were two options, answer the thing like she knew it, buy some time, or run for it. Now feeling frightened, and not so talkative, Bo began to run again, this time blindly into the fog. As she ran those lights seemed to follow her. She closed her eyes and decided to launch her body forward without seeing. Thud!

‘Bo’, the mechanical voice whispered. She was caught.

‘Let me go’ she said. The machine stepped back, the metal arms that had recently clutched her in their grip fell limply by its side.

‘Who, what are you?’

‘Bo’, it seemed to purr. Catching her breath, Bo calmed, the red in her face perhaps glowing as brightly as those piercing red eyes.

‘Remember’, the machine said. Something light touched her forehead. She began to fall, and as she did something clutched her hand, was she still in the fog?

‘It is only you and I’, it said. Falling still the ground nowhere. She began to remember. Yes, Vlarrr. The being is Vlarr. ‘Mmmmmm’, Vlarrr said, ‘Welcome home. In this place you are not yet and I have already been.’

Bang! Bo wakes up. The kitchen is spotless, the convabulator buzy brewing away.

‘Vlarrr’, Bo cries, adjusting his apron. ‘Breakfast, darling.’

Bo felt like he had had a long coma sleep. He didn’t know anymore what happened last night. He went to a goa party. Never had done that before. But friends took him there. When they arrived, hippies with dreadlocks and piercings offered them pills. Bo didn’t know what they were, but his friends assured him that it was OK. He put the pill under his tongue. A girl took his hand and dragged him with her. She started to dance, her curly hair jumping up and down, her hands high in the air, like she wanted to invite the goddess or something. Bo relaxed and let the music fill his body. Around them dozens of beautiful people were dancing. Bo felt like he was making love to every one of them. His senses were open wide. A big warm glow filled his heart. A girl with a beautiful purple skirt came dancing in front of him. He smiled at her. She moved closer. Their breaths touching each other.

Color merge! He had had a fucking color merge! That hadn’t happened to him for a long time and there was a reason for this. It’s painful and it leaves you all sludgy, sloppy and melanged… he looked down… and purple. Hmm, purple. Not too bad. He remembered the time when he by mistake had colormerged an electric blue beauty. In the dark he had seen it as an intriguing lagoon lust but he woke up with some fluorescent sky-blue baby face… His friends had laughed. After that embarrassment, being a little purple for a while will not hurt.



Story 5

The car was chasing us through the empty streets of the city. How stupid of Vlarrr to try to repair it. By changing its mechanism Vlar had changed its mind. The car was now a hunter. And we were its prey. Its shiny headlights looked like mean eyes. They would see us anywhere. We had to find a street that was narrow enough so the car wouldn’t pass through it. But all the streets seemed like highways now except for that they were deserted. No persons, no other cars, no bikes, no animals, no robots… Except us being hunted by that evil machine. We were screaming help but we knew there was noone out there. Noone was going to save us from that metal monster.

Obviously we were getting tired. At least I was. Vlarrr's battery didn't seem empty yet at all and the car was still full of gasoline too, I feared. I screamed to Vlarrr if s/he could carry me because my legs were starting to ache real bad.

Vlarrr smiled and, because s/he's such a gentle creature, lifted me up and placed me on hir shoulders, while still running. I felt the wind in my face as we moved from street to street. Vlarrr seemed happy to help me. But could s/he get us out of the situation alive too? We couldn't keep running all our lives, could we?

And it was then that s/he surprised me again in that way only Vlarrrr could. Tossing her/his head back, Vlarrr laughed: »It's OK, I just remembered!«

The car was savage menacing presence just moments away from engulfing us.

'Vlarrr!!!’ I screamed, ‘Keep going!’ But Vlarrr turned, opened her/his mouth and kept opening. A tongue like a huge ramp flung out, lapped around the car, caught it like a fly on a lizard's tongue and swallowed.

‘Belch’, a thunderous burp ensued, shook the streets and the city blocks. If anything else was alive, it would have answered back, maybe a pack of cats would have screamed, or dogs would have howled, or a distant bird would screech. The people if there were any left I didn't know of…

But then Vlarrr screamed for me, her/his tiny body had somehow taken the whole car in one gulp. In a small voice s/he said it's time for me to write the story. I didn't know what she meant. I, Vlarrr have just become pregnant.

Oh perfect! So what you want me to do now!? Teach little puppy machines how to absorb waste for energy! As if we didn't have other, more urgent things to attend to. Couldn't you have thought of any other way to stop that monster… do you always have to be so, so self-fulfilling, so for the moment. Did you for a second think of what would happen after and how this would affect me, you stupid little… yeakh, what are you doing? And now, what is this? A spontaneous little abortion or… oh, isn't that sweet! A little mini-monster. For me? Quick, show me how it works. I want to get out of here and I don't want to ride on your shoulders anymore, you stink. I told you, you should't plunge into that waste container, that rotten waste was acid. Why can't you go tank at the waste station like everyone else. I never met a dirtier dodot in my life. Anyway, who is there to meet…

Clean-polished, shiny dodots without humor or the courage to take a fat-assed kiggy model T-1008 (yeah, that's me) on their shoulders, that's what or, should I say who, is left to meet. Dodot's who'd rather plead for mercy than run and attack those crazy hunter cars! But where was I? Right, on Vlarrr's stinking shoulders, trying to get off and turn my own engine on, lighter than ever, after tossing away the thought of little stinky dodot-kiggies in everlasting need of fuel.

‘Stop!’ I screamed and flew off Vlarrr's shoulders into the dust. I picked myself up and ran myself into his legs and pushed him in front of me with all my strength. The road went upwards, was more and more steep and I was starting to feel sorry for all my passionate advocacy of bio-fuels, made of McDonalds' and BigBuck fries, as I was losing speed, losing strenght, thus endangering the whole mission: the hybrid dodot and kiggy liberation fronts’ brave attack on the car-system that kept our comrades caged in their rusty jaws.

‘A la victoria!’ I screamed as we finally reached the top of the hill and rushed downwards, straight towards the Central Corrections Center for Superflous Robots, controlled by the cars which we, ourselves have turned into our enemies. What a mess!



Story 6

The streets were filled with smoke. Everywhere was the smell of burned flesh. I didn't know how I ended up here, even less where I came from. Some strange being, Vlar was its name, woke me up and since then we have been running, together with other creatures like Vlar. I have never seen anything like it. But I wasn't scared. I felt the creature had good intentions. And much later I understood it had saved me.

In fact, its presence was conforting for me. Even in the midst of all the chaos and fear, I knew the thing would brings things to a good end. I felt soft and warm. What I didn't know was that Vlar had injected a fluid in me. Something that made me calm and relaxed.

I wasn't sure where we were headed, Vlar and her companions were going home but I wasn't sure where that was or if I would be able to come with them all the way. They were a strange crowd, they talked with me but not with eachother though they had to be communicating somehow.

Their movements were slow and liquid but still I had trouble keeping up. They were able to take long strides, elastically bouncing on their limbs only to pulse themselves forward a large distance. I needed at least three strides to cover the distance they did in one. And then, running in this same rhythmic pace for what seemed forever, the group slowed down and came to a halt where the ground ended and we found ourselves at the edge of a great black lake.

The place looked deserted and sad. So here used to be the home of Vlar and her companions. Nothing was left of it. Trees were burned and the lake was filled with tar instead of fresh water. I felt like crying but Vlar's injection prevented me from shedding tears. Poor Vlar. Where did they have to live now? Their houses had collapsed and the ground was no longer fertile but very poisonous. I wondered what creatures like Vlar would eat. Do they eat at all? Maybe they could survive on poisonous soil. It wasn't a pretty sight. Even the view would cause someone to move away.

So what had to be done now. I was curious about what had happened but it was even more urgent to find a way out.

Perhaps Vlarrr should have taken the fluid too.

'We've been together so long, I come from my dying planet to yours and yours is dead too.' I look again across the stagnant lake. 'We need to get out.'

'Wait,' Vlarrr said, 'I know a place,' and then not running we glided. A huge ridge, a cliff face and then… inside, here we are safe.

'It seems as if we have run all this time that I find you and you find me and we run.' Vlarrr's head began to hang low, her huge arms flung over her thin knees.

'Let's tell eachother who we are,' I said. Vlarrr moans. She shifts around inside her stomach, a flat but vast space.

'Here,' a perfect glass filled with water is passed to me. Greedily I drink.

'Shhhh,' Vlarrr says, 'Lie here.' She pats her long belly and stretches out on the ground. Obediently I lie, tired so tired.

'Well,' Vlarrr says, 'For one, I'm not a girl.' I gulp.

'What?'

'Well,' she/he/it said, 'I just said it to you so you would get along more easily with me.' I begin to feel less safe, Vlarrr's stomach adjusted itself to my head, warm light pin points creeped up my neck. I breathed again.

'Who, what are you?'

'Relax, does it matter?' said Vlarrr, 'I'll show you.'

I got really scared, or rather, I knew in the back of my mind that I should be, but the soft warm presence of my newly found buddy was soothing, somehow intoxicating. I could hear the violent winds hitting against our shelter reminding me of the barren land we've left behind. Here, on the other hand, was life. Peculiar complicated pulsating life. But who was it? It did matter.

'Tell me,' I said. 'I will listen, I promise.'

'The language you know is unfit, not made to accommodate my gender,' Vlarrr said and pulled it's (ah fuck, her) stomach towards itself, and I could literally feel the void, the void of language.
'See,' she continued, 'You want me to be a girl because you feel comfortable around girls. But think – how do you recognise, define somebody as a girl? By liking them? By their body-shape? I obviously don't fit in the appearance category. As for the first… you tell me.'

I did like her. Him. It? I liked Vlarrr, and I liked it right there, in the belly of the world crumbling to pieces.

'Please,' I said, 'Relax, let me rest my head once again on your soft belly.'

Vlarrr hummed, got warmer, spread around me like a pillow and the last thing I remember before falling asleep was that the wind had stopped blowing.



Story 7

The Coast in some far-off place, the sunset, only some small clouds on the horizon. The sea runs onto the sand like fingers on a back, touching their heels as they run, laughing. They are bare-legged, bare-foot and they throw small shiny red stones into the waves. As the sea swallows the stones gratefully, the stones immediately dissolve, making a slushing sound, forming red circles in the water. The beach on their left is entirely filled with the most beautiful sandcastles, some of which are covered in seaweed, stones in bright colors and paper ribbons. The two creatures stop running.

The intimacy of their bare feet's footsteps in the sand brought them closer then they thought it would be possible in such an unpleasant situation. They were, after all, fugitives, running away from a world beautiful only on the surface, the sandcastles, the ribbons remnants of a time when one could build them, play in the sand, without the fear of penalty, a 150 Euro fine for public gathering, for, as they put it, »disturbing the nature of things«. The sea did not seem disturbed at all, and neither did the squeaking seagulls who circled above them, curious about the two tiny figures below them. Bo and Vlar, what a couple! Or, as they would rather say: What a world!

Vlar touched Bo's shoulder with his limp hand, the one that he could't feel much with, the one people were scared to look at, even more to touch, as it felt like the dead hand of history, of a time made into history by the new government which wanted to make sure that people would be left alone. Solitary wanderers, prohibited from sharing glances, words, lives with eachother, trained to listen and follow, trained to whither in dull solitude… like Vlar's limp hand. Bo shuddered at the touch but tried to hide it and smiled at the cautious Vlar.

‘It's OK,’ he said and held Vlar's dead palm…

It was a miracle that they found each other. Vlar's heart felt big and jumped like crazy. The impossible had already happened: he had fallen in love with Bo and he wanted Bo so much to accept him, not to care about their differences. But for now, he would take things slowly, didn't want to scare Bo away. Bo would notice soon enough that Vlar had much more secrets to reveal.

It started to get dark. The sun had almost fully disappeared. Both were dead-tired. They had had a lazy day. They had run away from society as they knew it and now they were ready for something entirely different. This was 2060 after all… Let the good times roll! Like said before: ‘We carry a new world in our hearts.’ This time things would be different. We would make it different. But first we had to sleep.

Bo and Vlar suddenly woke up. They were surrounded by the gatekeepers, five of them, protectors of Society as It Is. The guards and the judges and the punishers at the same time. It was those gatekeepers and the system of control and conformation that Bo and Vlar had tried to escape from. They had run miles but not far enough. The gatekeepers had found them and they were not very forgiving. Those who tried to escape from the Society were always found, so the story went. Bo and Vlar knew that. It was told to them so many times when they were younger. It was told to all children, to scare them, to make sure they would stay and ‘be good’.

One of the gatekeepers punched Vlar with a spear.

‘Get up!’ The gatekeeper dragged them towards a cage of wheels. Was this the end? Would they be imprisoned or sentenced to death even?

But then Vlar turned around, facing the gatekeepers. Their spears and kicks couldn’t hurt his hand as he blocked them, because he couldn’t feel them. The gatekeepers looked at Vlar with big eyes, so did Bo. But Vlar kept hitting with all his energy and when Bo joined him with some sticks she found on the floor, the gatekeepers got scared. No one had even fought back with them. They didn’t believe what was happening. Their power was never challenged before. Bo and Vlar were fighting for their lives, and also for their freedom.

The gatekeepers got back into their vessel to receive instructions on how to deal with the situation and undoubtedly to gear up with heavier arms. This was their chance.

‘Come on,’ said Bo, grabbing Vlar’s hand. They ran down the hill as fast as they could going down the steep end knowing the gatekeepers would need to take the road. When Bo slipped, Vlar caught her just on time and held on so they were able to roll down like a giant ball. At the bottom of the hill was the old landing strip. They were stranded, the road the gatekeepers would take would end there and there was nowhere they could outrun them. Unless… there was only one vesel there, of an unusual type and no guards in it.

‘I’ve never flown a thing like this before,’ said Bo, ‘We could crash and die.’

But they did it anyway.

Other Wor(l)ds at Ladyfest Amsterdam 2008

In Other Wor(l)ds
An Exercise in Collective Writing
by Tea Hvala

You are invited to write a science fiction story that involves and relates humans to an other, an alien, a being who is radically different from what you know and allows you to also perceive things differently. It allows speculation or extrapolation, as they call it when you alienate something familiar, obvious.

The first part of the session is going to discuss some examples from already existing feminist science fiction novels, for instance, Octavia E. Butler's Xenogenesis trilogy (1987-89, see below), in order to see what has been done, what hasn’t been done, and perhaps also see why it hasn’t been done… Ask questions like why does the other, the radically different, the hardly imaginable seem to often seem so monstrous; why the critique of thinking in either-or opposites in Ursula K. Le Guin's groundbreaking novel The Left Hand of Darkness (1969) does not automatically extend to the critique of homophobia. Stuff like that.

After this initial exercise in thinking difference, we're going to write our own stories or, if there is sufficient interest in formal experimentation, one collective story. In this case, in the style of music or comics jam sessions, each person is going to write only one part of the story and then, we'll mix, continue, finish, polish, dismember or assemble all these pieces into one messy, collectively written mistresspiece;)

Saturday, September 6th 2008 from 14.00 to 17.00 at Dokhuis Studio
Address: Plantage Doklaan 8/12, 1018 CM Amsterdam, http://www.plantagedok.nl

A follow up session for the workshop will be planned (time and day will be decided during the workshop on Saturday). The number of participants is limited to five people and English language. Open to all genders. Info on workshop reservations should be announced on http://www.ladyfestamsterdam.nl/practical any time soon. Below, you can see some examples that are going to be discussed at the workshop.

--0--

“All right,” she said. “Show me.”

The lights brightened as she had supposed they would, and what had seemed to be a tall, slender man was still humanoid, but it had no nose – no bulge, no nostrils – just flat, grey skin. It was grey all over – pale grey skin, darker grey hair on its head that grew down around its eyes and ears and at its throat. There was so much hair across the eyes that she wondered how the creature could see. The long, profuse ear hair seemed to grow out of the ears as well as around them. Above, it joined the eye hair, and below and behind, it joined the head hair. The island of throat hair seemed to move slightly, and it occurred to her that that might be where the creature breathed – a kind of natural tracheostomy. Lilith glanced at the humanoid body, wondering how humanlike it really was.

“I don’t mean any offense,” she said, “but are you male or female?”

“It’s wrong to assume that I must be a sex you’re familiar with,” it said, “but as it happens, I’m male.”

Good. “It” could become “he” again. Less awkward.

Octavia E. Butler, Dawn. Guild America Books, 1987, p. 16-17

--0--

"But surely--"

"But surely be damned! Balance of trade - balance of life, man. I don't know if our birth rate is going, that's not the point. Our soul is leaking out. We're bleeding to death!"

He took a breath and lowered his tone.

"What I'm trying to tell you, this is a trap. We've hit the supernormal stimulus. Man is exogamous - all our history is one long drive to find and impregnate the stranger. Or get impregnated by him; it works for women, too. Anything different-colored, different nose, ass, anything, man has to fuck it or die trying. That's a drive, you know, it's built in. Because it works fine as long as the stranger is human. For millions of years that has kept the genes circulating. But now we've met aliens we can't screw, and we're about to die trying... Do you think I can touch my wife?"

"But--"

"Look. Y'know, if you give a bird a fake egg like its own but bigger and brighter-marked, it'll roll its own egg out of the nest and sit on the fake? That's what we're doing."

"We've been talking about sex so far." I was trying to conceal my impatience. "Which is great, but the kind of story I'd hoped--"

"Sex? No, it's deeper." He rubbed his head, trying to clear the drug. "Sex is only part of it - there's more. I've seen Earth missionaries, teachers, sexless people. Teachers - they end up cycling waste or pushing floaters, but they're hooked. They stay. I saw one fine-looking old woman, she was servant to a Cu'uhbar kid. A defective - his own people would have let him die. That wretch was swabbing up its vomit as if it was holy water. Man, it's deep... some cargo-cult of the soul. We're built to dream outwards. They laugh at us. They don't have it."

James Tiptree, Jr.: And I Awoke and Found Me Here on the Cold Hill's Side (1972)
In: Justine Larbalestier (ed.): Daughters of the Earth. Wesleyan University Press, 2006, p. 166-167

Koncert zasedb Kiss the Bottle in Face Up To It!

Dokaj sveža zasedba KISS THE BOTTLE igra melodičen hardkor pank. Spevno, a tudi udarno in trpko glasbo v bendu ustvarjajo “staroste” francoske emo scene iz začetka in sredine devetdesetih, ki prisegajo na pankersko D.I.Y. etiko in iznajdljivost: bobnar Cristophe (ex Undone, Fingerprint, Jasemine, vodi tudi založbo Stonehenge), kitarist in pevec Gérome (Amanda Woodward, ex Peu Etre, Alcatraz, Carther Matha) in basist Yann (ex The Flying Worker). Na turneji in koncertu predstavljajo komade, ki bodo v kratkem izšli na skupnem albumu s Face Up To It!

Muzika, besedila: http://www.stonehengerecords.com/kissthebottle/

FACE UP TO IT! je anti-fašističen, gejem in feministikam naklonjen, ekološko ozaveščen, živalim prijazen in na bicikle mahnjen hiter old skul hardkor pank! V bendu že deset let igrajo basist Erik (ex Öpstand), pevec Fabien (ex Jean Seberg), bobnar Luc (ex Police Charged, Daymare, trenutno igra tudi s krasterji Gasmask Terrör in fura založbo Ratbone) in kitarist Gasp (ex Noir Les Horreurs, Inertie, Usqvarna). Izdali so dva mini albuma z bendoma Melee in Crucial Selection, sodelovali na vrsti kompilacij, leta 2002 v samozaložbi izdali lastno diskografijo na kaseti, za turnejo s Kiss the Bottle pa pripravljajo nov skupni album.

Muzika, fotke, videi: http://futi.free.fr/

V nedeljo, 10. avgusta 2008, ob 22h v Menzi pri koritu, AKC Metelkova mesto

Interview on Grrrl Zine Network

In May 2008, I was interviewed by Haydeé Jiménez and Elke Zobl, the editors of the resorceful Grrrl Zine Network. The website connects grrrl, lady, queer, and trans folk zines, distros and do-it-yourself projects from all over the world. Even if I no longer make zines, it feels great to be included in the (virtual) community of feminist and queer zinesters ranging from Auckland to Bonn, from Lima to Ljubljana, from Vancouver to Warsaw, yes, yes! Here's the link to the interview entitled:
The Curved, Stripburger, Pssst... :"Artfully transforming society ".

Pošasti na razstavi Smenj smeti

Pošasti so strašno grde in nerodne - zlepljene so pač iz smeti. Ne vedo, od kod prihajajo, niti zakaj so nastale, vedo pa, da v svetu, zgrajenem na ruševinah imperializma, rasizma, seksizma, razrednega razlikovanja in kapitalističnega opustošenja, nepoškodovanih in nedolžnih bitij ni. Pošasti ne morejo preživeti s pomočjo izvorne nedolžnosti, temveč svet označujejo z orodji, ki so njih označila kot drugačne (Kiborški manifest Donne Haraway pa znajo na pamet). Ha! Pošastni pol-stroji, pol-ljudje so tudi strašni optimisti: mislijo, da lahko postanejo, karkoli hočejo. Mislijo, da najdeni predmeti in smeti, iz katerih so nastali, ne vplivajo na njihovo življenje. Mislijo, da gre zgolj za gradivo, ki jih ne omejuje ali usmerja k nobenemu specifičnemu cilju. Kaj naj z njimi? Kam s pošastmi? Jih dam na prtiček in kredenco, v risanko ali v smeti?

Na razstavo! Pošasti, mutanti, kiborgi in beštije se dobijo v ŠKUC-u na projekciji risanke Terra. Obujat pridejo spomine na Jablana in Paprika, njihova prijatelja in prednika. Leta 2005 sta bila med snemanjem risanke umorjena na planoti pod Poreznom. Krivice pošasti nočejo in ne morejo pozabiti, z združenimi močmi pa lažje prenesejo pogled na posnetek, kjer se njihova prijatelja še zadnjič nasmehneta - preden ju prekrije senca Radioaktivnega žutoptiča… Skupinskemu žalovanju sledi zabava: enoroki Smrkec zaigra na klavir, Karbira, Hard ToDrive, Gumica, Vrvica, Mini G. C. in druge pošasti pa plešejo in plešejo in plešejo!

Jablana in Paprik (2005)
(tetrapak, papir, plastična roka in oko, paprika, lepilo)
Posnetek iz risanke Terra (Suzana Fiegl, Jože Kovačič, Dario Hvala, Tea Hvala, 40'', 2005)

Udeležbo na komemoraciji so doslej potrdili naslednji gostje:
























Mini G. C. (2008)
(balon, zobotrebci, deli fotoaparata, britvici, blago, zvezdica z modrca, adapter Mini Gender Changer, lepilo in vrvica)

Mini G. C. v Ljubljano pride sama, iz Amsterdama. Med potjo kot vedno razmišlja o računalnikih. Močno je navezana na ženski odprtokodni računalniški festival Eclectic Tech Carnival – tako zelo, da si je /ETC-jev zaščitni znak odtisnila na čelo. (Mini Gender Changer je adapter, ki spreminja 'spol' računalniških portov. Porte s količi običajno imenujejo 'moški', porte z luknjicami pa 'ženske'. Ko moramo spojiti dve komponenti, ki imata enak port, nam ta adapter olajša delo, saj omogoči spoj.)! Tako kot programerke na Eclectic Tech Carnivalu, tudi Mini G. C. ve, da je sodobna tehnologija vpeta v spolni red in sanja o dnevu, ko spolna razlika ne bo več vplivala na naš dostop do znanja, računalnikov in tehnologije. Viva la Mini!

 




Hard ToDrive in Smrkec (2008)
(deli trdega diska, plastičen Smrkec in otroški klavir, žica)

Smrkca med vadbo za nastop na ljubljanski komemoraciji preseneti Hard ToDrive in mu izpuli desno roko!! Kako naj zdaj igra?! Roko mora dobiti nazaj! (Ko se dvigne iznad klavirja in steče proti trdosrčnežu, se mimogrede vpraša, kje je Hard ToDrive sploh izgubil prvo roko …komu je tokrat vzneseno salutiral? Pha!)

Gumica in Vrvica (2008)
(deli računalnika, elastični povoj, brusilni papir, vrvica, elastika, žica, belilo, flomaster)

Gumica in Vrvica sta edina udeleženca, ki živita dovolj blizu, da se bosta na slavje odpravila kar z mestnim avtobusom. Živita na Fužinah, zaradi dolgoletne zveze pa bolj kot ostale pošasti (povečini so mlajše, samske ali razvezane) soobčutita breme preteklih utelešenj. Včasih se sprašujeta, čigav je bil računalnik, ki jima je posodil telo, in kako so z njim ravnali, da ob slabem vremenu tako ječi. Gumica se sprašuje, čigavo in kakšno rano je ščitil modri elastični povoj, in kaj je bilo v vrečki z rjavo elastiko, ki je kasneje postala njena 'trajna' pričeska. Na zabavi ne bosta ostala, ne dolgo, pozorno pa si bosta ogledala risanko, posebej radostni začetek, v katerem o Radioaktivnem žutoptiču še ni sledi...

Karbira z mladiči (2008)
(deli kolesa in fotoaparata, plastična hobotnica, vezalka, glina, selotejp, žica, lepilo, papir)

Karbira se je na pot odpravila sama, vendar je potovanje od obal Južnega kitajskega morja do Ljubljane zelo dolgo... Skotila je tri nepričakovane mladiče, ki še najraje počivajo na njenem trebuhu. Če je prej plavala kravl in med oddihom kar žabico, mora zdaj plavati hrbtno ali v položaju »mrtvaka«. Ko oprezna in radoživa Karbira počije, jo preplavi zasanjan, odsoten občutek kot spanje in budnost obenem. Pozabi na male in nase, na Ljubljano in žutoptiča, na vso žalost, ki se morda še obeta. Potem jo doseže ščebetanje otrok, hrumenje morja, jokave klice ptic in zdrzne se, kot bi na nebu že zakrožili žutoptičevi mali, ki so, kot je slišala, enako strupeni in požrešni kot on. Na slavju bo morala paziti na svoje. Ne znajo bežati, le otrpnejo v kamnite figure. ... in takšne imajo žutoptiči najraje. A mogoče zabava po komemoraciji sploh ne bo na prostem? Galerije imajo streho, ne? In gotovo bo Smrkec spet poskrbel za noro dobro muziko. Karbira se oddahne in nasmeji, zaplava še en krog, mladiči pa se od radosti zavrtijo okrog lastnih osi.

Maranča in Bolk (2008)
(deli fotoaparata, tetrapaki, plastična igrača, povečevalno steklo, plastelin, žica, lepilo, papir, flomaster)

Bolk in Maranča sta najbližja sorodnika pokojne Jablane. Bolk se je po izgubi opazno spremenil: opremil se je z zrcalno-refleksnimi lečami, ki odsevajo nebo pod različnimi koti in mu na ta način sporočajo, kje preti nevarnost. Čez prijazen obraz si je nadel režečo masko s široko odprtimi usti. Začel je pleniti pod in nad vodo; nazadnje je ujel plastičnega gozdarja in morsko zvezdo, ki zdaj čakata na svoj konec v njegovem prostranem trebuhu. Maranča se Jablane ne spomni, samo po pripovedovanju ve, da je bila zelo podobna Bolku, čeprav je bila menda lepša in je raje kot gozdarje jedla peteršilj. Maranča je Bolkov vajenec in gojenec. Zadovoljen je, saj je pravkar izvedel, da gresta z mojstrom v Ljubljano na projekcijo risanke Terra. Vračata se k svojim tetrapakastim koreninam! Pred odhodom sta se Jablani v čast slikala v polju peteršilja.

Radioaktivni žutoptič ml. (2008)
(začimbna embalaža, papir, sprej, selotejp, flomaster, belilo, vrvica)

Tudi Radioaktivni žutoptič mlajši že brzi v smer Ljubljana - Galerija ŠKUC! Joj!

*

Vabljeni na razstavo Smenj smeti

Prodajna razstava želi osvetliti problem potrošnje in smetenja. Ni le sejem smeti, kjer se prodajajo domiselni izdelki iz zavrženih materialov, nagovarja nas tudi k vsakdanu z manj smetmi. Otvoritev bo v soboto, 19. julija 2008 ob 19h v Galeriji Škuc. Razstava bo odprta v času festivala Dobimo se pred Škucem, med 20. in 27. julijem, vsak dan od 17.00 dalje.

Vabljeni!

Kulturno ekološko društvo Smetumet

Ženski odprtokodni računalniški festival v Amsterdamu

Eclectic Tech Carnival 2008

Marca letos je v Ljubljani na festivalu Rdeče zore gostoval mednarodni ženski kolektiv Genderchangers iz Amsterdama. Skupina je ženskam na računalniških delavnicah nudila pomoč pri uporabi odprtokodne programske opreme. Vse delavnice so bile dobro obiskane, razen… dveh: na delavnico, na kateri naj bi razstavile in ponovno sestavile računalnik, in delavnico o varnem posredovanju podatkov preko interneta, ni prišel nihče. Amsterdamske gostje so bile ob tem bolj presenečene kot ljubljanska ekipa. Ko sem v zadnjih dneh maja obiskala festivalu /ETC ali Eclectic Tech Carnival, na katerem se vsako leto srečajo programerke in druge računalničarke, ki prisegajo na Linuxov operacijski sistem, sem od organizatork zagrebškega »ladyfesta« Vox Feminae slišala enako zgodbo. Mar to pomeni, da žensk na tem koncu sveta računalništvo ne zanima? Res ne? Zakaj je tako in zakaj to nikogar ne preseneča?

V Ljubljani se sicer lahko bahamo s Kiberpipo, ki je za uveljavljanje odprto in prostokodnih programov naredila veliko, ne moremo pa se ravno ponašati z vidnostjo žensk na področju odprtokodnega programiranja in vnašanja novosti v informacijsko in komunikacijsko tehnologijo. Amsterdam pa ima vsaj desetletno zgodovino samoorganiziranega računalniškega opismenjevanja žensk.

Prvi brezplačni internetni café v Amsterdamu, v katerem je izključno rabljene računalnike poganjal operacijski sistem Linux, je konec devetdesetih v zasedenih prostorih odprla skupina ASCII (Amsterdam Subversive Center for Information Interchange). V skupini so prevladovali moški in čeprav so svoje znanje in spretnosti delili z novimi članicami skupine, se slednje v tem okolju niso počutile preveč dobro. Motil jih je vzvišen in včasih kar pokroviteljski odnos nekaterih članov ASCII-ja, zato so se začele zbirati v manjši, izključno ženski skupini. »Skupina je sprva delovala kot študijski krožek. Pred srečanjem je vsaka izmed nas preučila eno poglavje priročnika in znanje potem delila z drugimi. Delale smo v precej bolj sproščenem vzdušju.« Prav zato, nadaljuje Donna Metzlar, ena od ustanoviteljic »akademije« Genderchangers, še danes vztrajajo pri delavnicah, ki so namenjene izključno ženskam in transseksualkam: »Iz osebnih izkušenj, pa tudi na podlagi raziskav, lahko z gotovostjo trdim, da se udeleženke v izključno ženskih prostorih lažje izražajo (recimo, sprašujejo t.i. neumna vprašanja). V teh prostorih se ženske lažje privadijo na tehnično subkulturo; tako se lažje znajdejo v »resničnem« ali spolno mešanem okolju. Za okolje, ki je občutljivo na kontekst, in delo v vrstniških skupinah na splošno velja, da udeležencem omogoči lažje učenje in jim da višjo raven znanja.«

Fotografija: R. G. Gözüm

Na osmem festivalu Eclectic Tech Carnival (prvi je bil v Puli, drugi v Atenah, tretji v Beogradu, sledili so mu festivali v Gradcu, Temišvaru, Linzu in brazilskem Salvadorju) se je letos zbralo okrog petdeset računalničark iz Evrope in ZDA. Zaradi njihove zagnanosti, znanja in ustvarjalnosti se je druženje v zasedenem poslopju na ulici Plantage Dooklaan zdelo kar preveč samoumevno – vsekakor dovolj, da je predsodek o »nenadarjenosti žensk« za računalništvo hitro izzvenel v prazno… Sploh potem, ko so gostje iz Radia FRO in nemškega (Linz) demonstrirale, kako v treh urah lahko narediš svoj lasten mini radio oddajnik, ki je prek USB vhoda povezan z računalnikom, in v radiju kakšnih petnajstih metrov lahko oddajaš vse, kar ti poželi srce. Seveda, samo dokler te ne sliši kak medijski policaj, ki ve, da je, vsaj v Avstriji, USB oddajnik že prepovedan! Predsodku je zaradi iznajdljivosti udeleženk nasprotovala celo najbolj ponesrečena delavnica, na kateri naj bi iz lesa in magnetov (vzetih iz trdega diska) naredile »čarobno« desko za odlaganje kuhinjskih nožev, na katero se noži lepijo kar sami, vendar se je hitro izkazalo, da voditeljica delavnice sploh ne ve, kje točno v disku se skriva magnet! A smo ga našle, le da so medtem pod rokami manj potrpežljivih udeleženk namesto »čarobnih« desk že nastajala ogledala, uhani in roboti na, zaenkrat, človeški pogon.

Fotografija: Tea Hvala

O »nenadarjenosti« za računalništvo sva še najbolj glasno pričala jaz in moj podarjeni, muzejski primerek prenosnega računalnika iz leta 1998, saj je ubožec ob vsakem zagonu brezsramno zapel korporativno microsoftovo himno: ti-di-di-di! Punc, ki so se posvetile delavnicam, to ni motilo, le smejale so se in nadaljevale z delom. Na vrsto so prišle kode, ki sestavljajo Ubuntu, jezika Phyton in HTML ter različni programi (UpStage, Ubuntu Studio, Audacity, Pure Data,…). S tem se je udejanjil osnovni namen festivala /ETC: sodelovanje in druženje računalničark v realnem prostoru in času. Obiskovalke festivala živijo na različnih koncih sveta, in tudi same so plačale ceno za nastanek t.i. globalne informacijske vasi: nimajo lokalne odprtokodne programerske skupnosti, kaj šele, da bi imele skupnost peščice žensk znotraj omenjene skupnosti: po podatkih, objavljenih na konferenci Wizards of OS septembra 2006, delež programerk niha med 0.5 % in 1.5 %.

Programerke z aktivističnim nabojem so se na lastno robno umeščenost odzvale na različne načine. Val Henson je leta 2002 napisala priročnik HOWTO Encourage Women in Linux, Donna Metzlar pa je konec devetdesetih s prijateljicami osnovala študijsko skupino Gender Changer Academy. Imena si niso izmislile same, le že obstoječemu terminu so dale nov pomen: »recikliramo ga. Ustvarila ga je tehnološka industrija. Termin tehnično in dobesedno govori o računalniškem delu, o adapterju, ki spreminja 'spol' računalniških portov. Porte s količi običajno imenujejo 'moški', porte z luknjicami pa 'ženske'. Ko moramo spojiti dve komponenti, ki imata enak port, nam adapter olajša delo, saj omogoči spoj. Termin smo si prisvojile in v naši rabi pomeni človeka, ki je pozoren na vpetost tehnologije v spolni red. Z akademijo Gender Changer želimo doseči, da spolna razlika ne bo več vplivala na naš dostopa do znanja, računalnikov in tehnologije«. Lepo, ne?

Fotografija: Tea Hvala

Festival /ETC je načela prostokodnega programiranja povezal s feminističnimi prizadevanji: neomejeno uporabo programske opreme je navezal na boje za avtonomijo in pravice žensk, splošno dostopnost opreme s pravico do javne in politične participacije, možnost kopiranja kode s solidarnostjo feministk z drugimi marginalnimi skupinami (in z ekološkimi prizadevanji za zmanjševanje potrošnje), možnost nadgrajevanja kode in njeno javno dostopnost pa je festival /ETC povezal z daljnosežnimi spremembami, ki so jih sprožila in pospešila različna feministična gibanja: z bolj dostopnim izobraževanjem, reproduktivnimi pravicami, pravicami delavk, ipd.

Ker je primerjava zelo ohlapna, jo lahko konkretiziramo z Donninim odgovorom na vprašanje, v čem je pravzaprav korist poznavanja programske opreme in poti, po katerih na spletu potujejo osebni podatki, ko pa je toliko drugih vsebin, ki so enako pomembne? Donna se strinja, da so na svetu tudi bolj zanimive stvari, vendar »potem vsaj veš, katere dele za računalnik moraš kupiti. Tudi napake lahko odpraviš sama in ni se ti treba zanašati na pomoč drugih; poleg tega se s prodajalci lahko pogovarjaš v računalniškem žargonu, kar egu nikoli ne škodi«, se je pošalila in dodala, da ji je vseeno žal, da zanimanje ni večje, saj je »informacijska in komunikacijska industrija mogočna in vse bolj vplivna, vodi pa jo vse manj ljudi. Medtem se naša odvisnost od peščice lastnikov, načrtovalcev, inženirjev, oblikovalcev in vzdrževalcev veča iz dneva v dan«.

Kje so torej ljubljanske računalničarke? Se skrivajo doma? So v Kiberpipi? V Amsterdamu? Veliko jih najbrž res ni, zato bi morale ponovno začeti na začetku: z odganjanjem strahu pred računalniki in opozorilom, ki ga je feministkam na srce položila že neustrašna Harriet Tubman, ki ni čakala na osvoboditev, temveč je iz suženjstva pobegnila sama: ko boš prestopila mejo in vstopila v svet svobodnih, tam ne bo nikogar, ki te bo čakal in vodil skozenj; tujka boš v tujem svetu. …pod pogojem, seveda, da se festival /ETC naslednje leto ne ustavi v Ljubljani.

Besedilo je v krajši obliki izšlo v 6. št. revije Narobe.

Presentation at Eclectic Tech Carnival

Eclectic Tech Carnival
May 25th – 31st 2008, Amsterdam

May 26^th at 22.00, Vrankrijk, Spuistraat 216
May 30^th at 17.00, Plantage Doklaan 8-12

»When we move, it's a movement!«
Feminist and queer festival Red Dawns
Presentation by Tea Hvala

Red Dawns festival happens annually around March 8^th in the Autonomous Cultural Center Metelkova mesto in Ljubljana, Slovenia. Since 2000 and the 1^st Red Dawns, the organizers have shifted from self-defining it as women’s to feminist and finally in 2007, to a feminist and queer festival. The presentation is going to outline the reasons for and consequences of Red Dawns’ constant need for (re)articulation. Welcome!

Koncert AIDS Wolf in Br-Ass-Bass Hit

Menza pri koritu, 6.5.2008
Fotografije: Iztok Vidmar

Lahko bi rekli, da se je sinočnji koncert pričel že pred koncertom, z otvoritvijo nove poslikave na sosednji Jalla Jalli, kjer je na strehi s kratko improvizacijo na dudah med drugimi nastopil Andrej Fon. Improvizacijski je bil tudi nastop ad hoc zasedbe BR-ASS-BASS HIT, ki je koncert v Menzi pri koritu pričela kar med publiko; vsak glasbenik se je iz svojega kota – z balkona, izza šanka, od vhoda in zadnjega dela dvorane – počasi približeval odru. Skupaj s približevanjem je naraščala tudi jakost sprva jazzovskega pihalnega jama na dudah, klarinetu, trobenti in pozavni, kateri so se kasneje pridružili še kontrabas, kitara, bobni in takoimenovani hurli-gurli, strunska pogruntavščina Samota Kutina iz eksperimentalnega cirkusa Salamandra Salamandra. V zasedbi Dario Cortese na dudah, Simon Vene na trobenti, Linč na bobnih in pozavni, Andrej Fon na klarinetu, Miha Kunšič na kitari in Boštjan Benčič na kontrabasu smo poslušali stopnjevanje v smer bučnosti, ki ga je – preden bi se izpelo v brezkončno repeticijo – rešil Linčev nenadni bobnarski vstop in enako nepričakovan konec, ki se je v tišino iztekel z nežnimi zvoki Samotovega hurlija.

Br-Ass-Bass Hit

AIDS volkovom je v hipu, ko so stopili na oder in vklopili štrom, prekurilo basovski ojačevalec. Že je zakrožila šala, da je bil to najkrajši nojzerski koncert, kar smo jih kdajkoli slišali na Metelkovi – seveda, če odštejemo neme solo nastope Minimal Bastarda – ko je bend vendar našel zamenjavo. Začeli so tako, kot se spodobi: neusmiljeno bučno in gotovo bolj živce kot srce parajoče za tiste, ki jih v zvočno razdejanje AIDS Wolf ni potegnila kombinacija razbijaškega ritma in bobnečih rifov a la Arab on Radar, Lightning Bolt ali celo bolj dostopnih Death From Above 1979. A mogoče si je hrup, ki ga AIDS Wolf bruhajo že kakih pet let, res lažje predstavljati z besedami, izposojenimi od Captaina Beefharta: AIDS Wolf zvenijo kot »lignji, ki se v polietilenski vrečki bašejo s testom«.

Hiroshima Eye (AIDS Wolf)

Natanko takšna je tudi specifična in vendar za nojzerje pričakovana estetika AIDS Wolf: vizualno nasilje sitotiskanih plakatov in naslovnic, ki jih ročno izdelujeta bobnar Special Deluxe in pevka Hiroshima Eye v svoji delavnici Seripop, je v preobloženosti, kontrastih in florescentnih odtenkih gneva, ki naj bi, če se vrnemo k zvoku, poslušalce pregnal. Sinoči je prav ta destruktivna moč začarala in v veselje spravila kakih dvajset, trideset ljudi, ki smo hedbengali, se tresli, gugali in krožili v vrtoglavem ritmu bobnov in spolzkih rifih obeh kitaristov, treznila pa nas je drobna, v črno ogrinjalo in pajkovski kostum odeta pevka, ki se je cel koncert sprehajala med folkom in preverjala našo odzivnost na njen glas, obraz, dotik.

Hiroshima Eye (AIDS Wolf)

Zasedbo AIDS Wolf že od nastanka spremljajo določena fama in visoka pričakovanja. Razlogov za to je več: najprej spadajo med bende, ki so se v za umetniško ustvarjanje izjemno vzpodbudnem okolju »kanadskega Berlina« oz. Montrealu lahko izoblikovali ob praktični podpori nekdanjih Godspeed You Black Emperor, ki so dobiček od svoje slave investirali v lokalno sceno; člani Godspeed razpolagajo, na primer, s kar dvema kluboma, ki sta namenjena eksperimentalni glasbi. Potem je tu dejstvo, da bend AIDS Wolf podpira legendarna založba Skin Graft, tudi dejstvo, da je prvi album The Lovvers iz leta 2006 posnel Arlen Thompson iz zasedbe Wolf Parade, pa podatek, da člani AIDS Wolf igrajo tudi v bendu Les Enfants Sauvages in v power duetu Hamborghinni!, kitarist pa igra tudi s člani bolj znane montrealske zasedbe Bell Orchestre.

Special Deluxe (AIDS Wolf)

A medtem ko je kar nekaj kritikov kljub ugodnim referencam glasbo AIDS Wolf odpisalo kot neravno posrečeno kopijo kakih Scissor Grils, Melt Banana ali tudi prej omenjenih Arab on Radar, je bil sinočnji koncert izjemna osvežitev za ušesa, katerim se v Ljubljani upravičeno toži po tako naspidiranem »power nojzu«.

Prvič objavljeno na Radiu Študent v sredo, 7. maja 2008 v RŠ recenziji.

Konfuzno Izvajanje velikeg blatarja

.

Izvajanje velikega blatarja

(bralna uprizoritev)
Tea Hvala

Nastopajo:
Boris Vlajić: dr. Bata Leviki, veliki blatar
Jure Gruden: dr. Nikolaj Lajić
Tea Hvala: dr. Shesti Chut

in dr. Paolo Andreani, dr. Sandra Essbauer, dr. Jinzhong Fu, dr. David Wake in drugi udeleženci XII. mednarodnega zoološkega kongresa v Ljubljani (5.-11. oktober 2009).

Vsem zoologom se zahvaljujemo za konstruktivne kritike in sodelovanje! Še posebej se zahvaljujemo fotografu Marku Preslenkovu in snemalcu Damijanu Kracini za zvesto upodobitev nepozabnega dogodka. Video posnetki so iz druge ponovitve Izvajanje velikega blatarja. Potekala je v petek, 2. maja ob 22.00 v Osnovni šoli Sečovlje na Konfuziji, 2. konvenciji ljubiteljev znanstvene fantastike, fantasyja in grozljivk.

***

Veliki blatar je skulptura Damijana Kracine. V projektu Galapagos (http://www.galapagos.si/) se je s slikarjem Vladimirjem Lebnom prepustil čudoviti fantaziji o sožitju živalskih vrst s človeško. Vodnik po Galapagosu (http://www.galapagos.si/knjiga.htm) vam samo ponuja avtentičen vpogled v galapaško razbohoteno življenje in tako zagotavlja, da bo vaše doživetje otoka nepozabno!

Izvajanje velikega blatarja (http://www.kracina.com/veliki_blatar.htm) je kratka zgodba Tee Hvala. Velikega blatarja, inteligentno bitje, ki ga je zoologija kljub nestrinjanju nekaterih raziskovalcev umestila v razred dvoživk, obravnava kot barjansko žival na robu izumrtja. Spremlja življenje izjemno prilagodljivega primerka, ki si je za las rešil kožo pred naraščajočo vročino in sušo tako, da se je iz Ljubljanskega barja preselil v stanovanje ob južni obvoznici. V pretresljivi izpovedi velikega blatarja na XII. Mednarodnem zoološkem kongresu v Cankarjevem domu v Ljubljani izvemo, zakaj kljub temu, da očitno gre za razumno bitje, blatar »ne more preprečiti lastne smrti« oz. izumrtja.

Explication of the Great Muddigger

“I object!” Bata Leviki was restless. He dug his elbows into the desk as if the gesture could emphasize his protest.

It certainly didn’t stop Mr. Lajić from talking. Right then Bata Leviki’s animal hit my thigh and I deeply regretted my position. I had been seated to Leviki’s right, next to his muddigger. The animal had been resting at Leviki’s feet until the zoologist’s protest woke it up. When it moved, it slapped its heavy tail against me. I had to grab the desk with both hands to keep myself from falling, and then I pushed back. The animal ignored me; it was Leviki who gave me an angry look.

I peeked under the desk and saw that his muddigger was quite calm in spite of the general commotion. It was lying on its back, stretched out, its plump head and “haircut” thrown back, its lung ventricles exposed, each chest fang sticking in its own direction. Meanwhile, the tip of its tail was climbing, spiralling up Leviki’s bony legs like it was trying to coax him or perhaps comfort him. With every turn, it inevitably skimmed my leg and even though I found it extremely unpleasant I was not surprised to see that Leviki, on the other hand, was not bothered at all. Wasn't he most disturbed by Mr. Lajić's remark that great muddigger's endangerment is secondary to the danger its species presents to humans? Leviki was definitely angry when Mr. Lajić continued saying that the great muddigger doesn’t belong to the conference, especially not to the respectable Congress Center of Cankarjev Dom.

By then, Mr. Lajić was finished. He ignored a researcher who was obviously ready to add his remarks, turned to Leviki and said: “Mr. Leviki, can you explain how you intend to counter the results of this research project when you were personally involved in it and, let me refresh your memory, never questioned its conclusions. Also, allow me to ask you why have you decided to object my explication’s thesis today, at the closing meeting even though you had more than a year's time to do so?”

I was wondering the same thing even though I already knew that Leviki was not going to be able to answer. The rumour was that Leviki had been living with the great muddigger since the beginning of his field research in the swamps of Ljubljansko Barje. I also heard they share a flat which isn’t much bigger than my own. Impossible! The constant presence of the great muddigger (who certainly did not get its name without a reason) was unimaginable for me. Did Leviki really learn to love the animal so much that he eventually decided to adopt it? From a professional point of view, his act clearly discredited all his research efforts. I flinched, looked at Leviki and saw that he was going to give it a try anyway.

“Dear Sirs,” he began and remained seated. Everybody knew that he was tied to his seat by muddigger’s heavy embrace. Then, as if the humiliation wasn't complete, the animal’s tail peeked over the desk and slowly curved down its full length. I don't think Leviki was aware of the moment's cruelty. He was rubbing the muddigger's tail and looking at us from such a distance that I prepared myself for a very long and most certainly partial answer.

Below, you will find my transcript of Leviki's speech. Although his findings about the great muddigger are probably valid only for his domesticated specimen, I shall leave it to the expert community to decide whether Leviki's studies are of any general value as well.

Sikhth Sense, Ph.D.

Calcutta, October 18th 2009

XII. INTERNATIONAL CONGRESS OF ZOOLOGY

Desiccation of Swamp Habitats and Survival Strategies of Endangered Amphibians

October 5th – 11th 2009, Congress Center of Cankarjev Dom (Ljubljana, Slovenia)

October 10th 2009: Case Study: The Great Muddigger (Caenulentus major)

BATA LEVIKI'S EXPLICATION – TRANSCRIPT

Dear Sirs,

Mr. Lajić's ridicule demands an answer. The following arguments are going to object to the same thesis I have indeed supported until one year ago. I will refute the prejudiced opinion that the great muddigger is an amphibian hostile to humans; in fact, I will refute even the idea that the muddigger is an amphibian at all. I insist that his exceptional sensitivity and intelligence demand further study: they demand that we rethink his – and our own – place in the genealogical tree of life. I am going to conclude my deduction with arguments that support the most important and most frightening realisation of my studies: I believe that the great muddigger’s species is on the verge of extinction. In spite of his intelligence the muddigger failed to develop effective survival strategies. Are we going to apologize for our so-called professional mistakes only when it is too late? When Ljubljansko Barje is inhabited by the last eight specimens? Well, the last nine. (He looked at his domesticated specimen. – Note by S. Sense.)

But let me first thank You for Your kind attention. I also want to use this special occasion to express my respect and admiration for the deceased Mr. Torn’s work.

/Indignant exclamations./

(The deceased Črtomir Torn was one of the earliest self-taught researchers of amphibians in Slovenia. He was also the first to notice this unusual animal in the swamps of Ljubljansko Barje, a creature that could barely be categorized as an amphibian. In 1910, Torn described the great muddigger as a “snake-like animal measuring up to two meters in length, its body shape similar to that of an olm (Proteus anguinus); it is legless and uses serpentine bending of the body and its laterally flattened tail to move through the swamps. Its entrails are protected by an intriguing white coating. The head is plump and round, its compound eyes surprisingly large and similar to those of a wasp. Three dark short feelers (external gills?) grow from its head. How the animal breathes is a mystery; but since it can stay underwater for long hours without surfacing to breathe, I assume it is an amphibian that alternately breathes through gills and lungs.”In: Č. Torn: Knjiga mojih ur na Ljubljanskem barju preživetih, Delavska knjižica, Ljubljana, 1911; p. 304 – Note and quote translation by S. Sense.)

We were all aggrieved by Črtomir Torn’s tragic death. I am well aware that it was him, admirer of nature and pioneer researcher, who first raised our attention to the great muddigger's existence, who sacrificed countless hours of work for research and eventually gave his life for the muddigger. I am also aware of the fact that Mr. Torn’s unfortunate death gave birth to the idea that the great muddigger is an amphibian harmful to humans.

/Mr. Lajić: Mr. Leviki! You know very well that the muddigger literally tore Mr. Torn apart! We have reason to believe that there is a chance of repetition!/

That is true, Mr. Lajić. Unfortunately, we will never know what Mr. Torn did to the muddigger before the creature began defending itself. Let me propose another example that promises repetition. You will have to take my word for it though.

 Great muddigger's natural habitat

Two year ago, when I began intensely studying the great muddigger and his life habits, I moved into a house by the Southern by-pass, close to Ljubljansko Barje, in order to avoid commuting and to be involved in my studies more directly. On one of my walks home, I carelessly stepped into a muddy landslip. It swallowed me up to my waist immediately. My own weight was pushing me deeper and I hurried and fumbled for grass, bushes, anything solid, but the plants were too weak for my weight. They uprooted and stayed in my fists. I fumbled madly, quite certain that my end was nearing – the thick mud had already reached my chest .

It was then that I felt a sharp stone under my fingers. I took a hold of it with all my strength and tried to pull myself out of the mud. I managed to stop the sinking, but then had to rest since I was too weak to continue. But even as I remained still and held the stone, I felt like I was being pulled out of the landslip. Eventually, I noticed that it wasn’t me who was pulling the stone; the stone was in fact pulling me – and pulled me – out of the mud! Of course you already know that I wasn’t holding a stone. I was holding a fang, a muddigger’s fang!

I was terrified but in that strangely sober moment, my fear and weakness were defeated by my immense curiosity. This was an extremely rare occasion to see his fangs and mysterious lungs from close range! My saviour, however, refused to be examined. He turned onto his stomach, aimed his fangs for the ground and began making towards the larger pools. I struggled to my feet and touched his back. It was covered in mud, yet soft and warm like the skin of warm-blooded animals. I retreated in surprise. Was it possible that the great muddigger was a mammal?! While I feverishly ruminated on this sudden, even iconoclastic thought, the muddigger slowly meandered towards the puddles, half buried in the waterlogged ground.

My belief that the great muddigger is not harmful to humans was born there and then. However, today I believe that the truth is quite to the contrary! As many of you probably know, I and Bata (He pointed to his specimen. – Note by S. Sense) have been living in exemplary cohabitation for the last year. I can therefore confirm that the muddigger is a peace-loving being, who, unlike other amphibia, wants to communicate – and does it!

/General laughter./

/Mr. Lajić: Your conclusions demand additional explanation. Please continue, Mr. Leviki./

I am going to tell you why the great muddigger really is dangerous: not because of his physical strength and not because of his bellicose reactions to his few enemies – I suppose there is no need to explain who I mean by that. The muddigger is harmful because of his intelligence, his sensuousness and ability to feel. His psychic structure is far more complex than mans'. I am not referring to logic but rather compassion, his ability to sympathize. Tell me: have any of you ever tried to talk to a muddigger? Perhaps listened to him? You didn’t, you prefer to invest in “domestification” of rebellious hairiries, and you prefer to lock edgebeens and globigherines into aquariums. You do not live with them – you own them! Are you really capable of living only with humans? In that case, my experience is beyond your reach and simply incomparable. I can assure you that the great muddigger really is a threat – because he has more sense than all of us zoologists together!

/Loud objections. (Unfortunately, low quality of my recordings does not allow me to detect individual objections. The end of transcript. – Note by S. Sense.)/

In the past week, I doubted the authenticity of my recordings several times; I also doubt the credibility of my own memory even though I know I will never forget the events that followed Leviki's explication. I feel it is my duty to transcribe and publish these recordings for the world's zoological community, since I can no longer wait for the hypothetical letter which would inform the congress participants that what we have witnessed in Ljubljana was merely a mass hallucination or perhaps a science-fiction performance. I therefore entrust you the notes of an eyewitness whose essence defies his perception.

Leviki crouched to his muddigger amid general laughter and shouts. He somehow managed to load it onto his back. When he arose, they looked like a two-headed monster. The muddigger's head darted to and fro above Leviki’s; the animal took hold of Leviki's shoulders with its upper fangs and used its lower fangs to grasp at his waist. Its tail was still encircling Leviki’s feet and his legs were now visibly trembling under the muddigger's weight; the animal must have weighted at least a hundred kilos! We were silenced by this fantastic image. We could hear Leviki absently repeating: »We, Bata, we are living proof, we …«

Poor Leviki could no longer stand the burden. He staggered, collapsed on the muddigger and closed his eyes. The animal slowly spread its fangs. It laid the feeble, unconscious zoologist on the desk with great caution. It drew its fangs towards its chest and rested, also leaning against the desk, balancing its body so that it could, as I noticed, free Leviki's legs. It then accidentally grazed the surrounding chairs with the tip of its tail and they flew into the corner where most of the scared zoologists were hiding. I retreated to the closest wall. From there, I could see the delicacy of the muddigger’s moves as it lifted its long thick tail onto the desk and curled it into a spiral. In this position, the animal could stand erect, and while it was making itself comfortable on the desk, I swear I heard it say: “Just a second”.

We were dumbfounded. The great muddigger has no mouth, he does not talk! I stared at his head and kept looking for a crevice that would indicate lips or a mouth, but only later, when the animal spoke again – and there are witnesses who can confirm it – did I notice that the sound was coming from the area of his lung ventricles. These were words, incredibly articulated speech in fact, of the great muddigger who sat on the desk like a Turk!!

Let me add before I continue my transcript that the creature sat and stared at the listeners until the very end while our eyes kept wandering towards the unconscious Leviki in disbelief; as if we were still hoping that it was him who was really doing the talking.

THE GREAT MUDDIGGER’S EXPLICATION – TRANSCRIPT

Dear Sirs,

Let me conclude Leviki's explication with arguments that, as mentioned earlier, support his tragic and most important realisation about my species: our intelligence indeed failed to prevent our near-extinction. While the language of experts does not hesitate to incorporate individual death into the so-called extinction of species, I am forced to resent this objectification, even though I understand it is used for scientific purposes only; after all, I am talking about my own death. My intention is not to avoid the language of zoology but to use it in order to present my personal discoveries. Let me therefore recite my own estranged necrology.

The great muddigger inhabits areas that have been irreversibly changed by global warming effects. The fatal strike was delivered by human “management”; intense farming and urbanisation have dried out the swamps, and those located in continental climate zones are disappearing both because of “artificial” and “natural” desiccation. In the past, Ljubljansko Barje was no exception. Nowadays, it is commonly recognised as a very unique habitat since it is the great muddiggers’ and many other species last resort. It is also quite hot and dry.

Since I believe that my physical construction and inability to adjust to a new environment are largely responsible for my near-extinction, I am first going to focus on the muddigger’s physiognomy; especially his ability – or rather, my inability – to move. As you can see, the body of an adult muddigger can reach up to three meters in length, including the tail. Because of his weight – I weigh a hundred and fifteen kilos – my body is most supple in thick and relatively shallow water. When I move through the swamps and pools my paired fangs are of great help. I use them to push myself against the ground, to crawl on drenched banks and as of late, also to walk on concrete stairs where my tail, for example, is absolutely useless.

In the past, before I was classified as an amphibian, many researchers were intrigued by my breathing techniques. They noticed I use several; I can breathe under water and I can breathe with lungs which are, like humans’, positioned in the upper part of my body. Later, researchers correctly concluded that my second breathing organ are my three head gills, also known as ‘haircut’ in zoologists’ jargon, and my skin pores, the latter enabling me to breathe, feel and also to regulate temperature, secrete bodily fluids, supply humidity and microorganisms. If my skin pores cannot provide sufficient humidity, I am threatened by dehydration. In dry conditions my velvet skin becomes harder, darker, and a new leathery layer with limited capacity of exchange forms: it disables the humidity flow in order to lessen evaporation. Partial dehydration is accompanied by symptoms which are normally observed in hibernation.

In short, all this meant that it was getting more and more difficult to move through the desiccated swamps. The times when I could swim on my stomach and relax were gone; I had to get used to swimming on my back in order to expose to the ground as much of my skin as possible. Since my fangs became redundant, I had to adopt a snake-like technique of movement. Since my field of view was radically lessened I was stranded and stuck in a muddy landslip more than once. When I swam on my back, I simply didn’t notice those small and tricky pools. My weight and my serpentine moves only pushed me deeper into the landslip.

Two years ago, I was saved from a landslip by your colleague Leviki. Our second and third encounter was similar to the first; either Bata or I were stuck in the mud. We were aware of the danger we faced each time - maybe that is why we became such good friends. I especially enjoyed the period when we were trying out new, safer ways to move. For instance, since serpentine movement, especially on my back, was not really effective, we came up with the idea that I should try contracting my muscles like a caterpillar. It worked but unfortunately I had to give up on that technique because of the terrible back pain it caused. Then, one day, Leviki suggested that I move to his place. I thought the idea was absurd. He spoke about the flat before and I knew that the house he rented by the highway ring was really small and entirely dry. The only appropriate place for soaking would be the bathtub and since it was really too small for me, I had to refuse his offer.

On the move ...  

The following summer was hot and dry, and seemed endless. I was constantly thirsty, dizzy and tired. The buckets of water Leviki brought from his house could not satisfy my skin's thirst. I could hardly recognise my darkened and heavy body. I started to compare my fate with the dinosaurs' who, as you know, died out because their bodies became impractical. I realised I was dying. In the mean time, Leviki kept visiting me and convincing me that his house would protect me from the merciless sun. So I went with him. His home was really small and uncomfortable but I started feeling better there. I could not have dreamt then that one day – today – I would finish Leviki's speech at the XII. International Congress of Zoology!

I do not fancy myself; my intellectual activities and my example cannot save my species. After all, I have made a move which is impossible for muddiggers who are not encouraged and supported by their friends. All I know is that I and poor Leviki are living proof of interspecies symbiosis. Even of love.

Needless to say, I do miss the swamps, their spaciousness, vegetation and the taste of microorganisms. Sometimes, I find myself crawling on the carpeted floor, thinking that this is how I can taste the precious food again. But I have made a decision and I intend to stick to it. So even though I may be turning into a human being, I will live, whether you believe it or not, until I die!

Thank You for Your time and attention. I am ready for Your questions.

(End of the transcript. – Note by S. Sense.)

No questions were asked. Zoologists were leaving the room in complete silence. The great muddigger turned towards me and nodded. I asked him if I could help him carry the unconscious Leviki out of the building. He thanked me, but said there was no need.

Written and translated by Tea Hvala. Sculpted and photographed by Damijan Kracina.