♀ Riot Grrrl ♀ בישראל

Lately, I’ve been making lists. To put some order in my life, I list the things to do, things to buy, things to clean, things to explore…

Back in high school, the only lists I’ve been making were lists of my favorite bands/artists, which, as time went on, got covered in layers of liquid paper as my tastes changed and evolved. I remember that fateful day when I erased Michael Jackson from the number one spot and replaced him with Marilyn Manson. It was a rather scary moment, and it took all my utmost strength to bring myself to do it. Deep down I knew he has become my favorite and it was imperative for me to make it official… in my list.

Now the lists I do are watered down and always include the same elements:

-          Tomato

-          Breakfast

-          Tuna

-          Mayo

-          Milk

-          Yogurts

-          Chocolate

-          Junk food

 

Or:

-          Clean bathroom

-          Do laundry

-          Eat

-          Work on zine

-          Shower

-          Do nails, eyebrows

 

I don’t know if I make lists for fear of forgetting to eat or to shower. Glad I don’t need a reminder to breath. But somehow I feel as though if I make a list, once all these things are done, I can finally be happy or satisfied with my current state. Yet as I cross out the last item on the list, I don’t feel any better or any worse, and before I can enjoy some me-time, it’s time to go to sleep... which is basically the only me-time I get.

That’s what happens when you work six days a week, wake up at 5:30 a.m. to get to work at 7:00, work until 4:00 without a decent lunch break, taking bites from some random sandwich in between phone calls and demands from the boss, then walking home for about an hour, and being so tired and hungry that by the time I get home all I wanna do is have a drink of water to sustain my stomach and crash, and find myself waking up in a daze after nightfall wondering where I am and what year it is. So much for putting some order in my life.

If anything, I live in a steady, static, perfectly organized routine of disorder and self destruction.

Peace, love and thank the Mother Goddess for everlasting confusion.

If I become mad or afflicted by the Jerusalem syndrome, it is by my own doing and not by any of the people/books/musicians/entities mentioned below.

I have decided that I don't know God and that I don't know Satan and that I don't know any of their respective servants and I also do not intend on finding out who they are.

Instead, I have set out to make my own theory about all that.

It seems to have become such common knowledge that death is not the end, but rather the beginning of whatever else.

Yet people who have experienced death, have never lived to tell about it, and if they have, the damage to their brain has been so severe, they were unable to talk about it. However, wars are still raging between the different Schools of Thought that study the theory of post-mortem existence, also known as religions. Such wars will surely never end as there is no way to prove that one belief or the other is the ultimate one.

I know the Old Testament through and through, so much that I am bored with it, and so, I will not go into details. The New Testament, I am now in the process of reading, and find it to be quite intriguing. As for Satanic dogma, my sole sources consist of Wikipedia and Deicide records - mediocre sources at best.

But as I delve deeper and deeper into the religious rhetoric of these different takes on the afterlife, a single common theory echoes through: Life does not begin at birth and does not end at death.

In other words, we are not alive and we are not dead. We simply experience existence while traveling across different dimensions. As one cannot prove this theory any more than other dogmatic hypotheses by the various Schools of Thought, the assumption will have to remain assumed.

Yet if all religions agree on this assumption, is there still hope for peace on this one common ground and ignore the insignificant details that come along the way?

Surely the proponents of righteousness would wish for nothing more than peace and kindness to reign in this world, and the next, and the one after that, and so on. However, there are proponents of evil disguised as the righteous and they come by the hundreds of thousands from every single School of Thought. These hypocrites are on a quest for power and glory, and they wish the throne of these worlds to belong to them, disregarding their brethren, rejecting peace and denying kindness.

*Going mad*

*Becoming afflicted with the Jerusalem Syndrome*

As I am the Messiah of my own being and the Creator of my own demise, I shall now retreat to death with a self-contented smile.

Peace, love and Oh, ye of little faith!

 

Jerusalem Food Festival...

A place you probably wouldn't expect to find me... especially not goreging myself until my stomach begs to be put out of its misery.

But there I was tonight, eating like I haven't eaten in days.

It was great however. So my love/hate relationship with food has never been so confusing as it has been these past couple of days. As I said before, I hate eating because my digestive system fucks me over no matter what goes through it. On the other hand, I started to discover the joys of cooking.

At the beginning it was a disaster. No matter what I would make, I would make an absolute mess and the food looked far from appetizing, and was either overcooked or undercooked or too salty or not salty enough... But recently, I managed to surprise myself with some pretty amazing dishes, quite easy and quick to make, and do not come in powder form with plenty of preservatives.

SO! Food festival was the place to be for a blooming cooker, who is looking to enhance her Moroccan roots. I thought I might get some ideas, but the baking workshops that were mentioned on the pamphlet were nowhere to be found... I guess I'll have to keep practicing my Moroccan cooked tomato salad until I get it right. Which sucks because I finally realized the secret ingredient is GARLIC! And I hate garlic so much, I might as well be a vampire...

Then again, I managed to overcome my fear of onions, as well as my fear of olive oil (in fact, I can't do anything in the kitchen without olive oil!) maybe someday I'll manage to overcome my fear of garlic as well.

Earlier today, one of my friends told me: "Food is dangerous." She was clearly meaning in terms of calories, but since that is never an issue when one is 163 cm tall and weighs 43.5 kilos, I decided to agree based on my experience with my retarded digestive system. I still enjoy eating because I noticed that not only does it somehow keep me alive, it also releases certain endorphines when I make it and it comes out just right.

Ughhhh....

Peace, love and food dillemma continues...

 

Ah! I ripped some more death metal shit. This was very necessary, especially since I nearly lost it this week with my rage tantrums.

Bleeding knuckels from punching doors and walls was the least of my problems as I felt my head bursting into flames.

Why you ask? No sensible reason at fucking all! I just found myself thrashing around my room, cursing my lungs out, throwing shit at the walls with the true and real attempt at breaking it. Thankfully, my roommates were not around, so I didn't risk scaring the living Christ out of them.

It was incredibly therapeutic, though... I should do that more often.

Seriously, some people reccomend soft music, scented candles and a warm bath to relax... but I know that shit like that only serves to infuriate me more because I see that as an attempt to push my frustration back down to the core of my being. My frustration is very real and should be released, and fucking soft music will not do.

DEATH METAL! That's the fucking way to do it. The gutteral growls, the flesh-grinding drums and the beheading guitar solos let my flames consume everything in sight before dying down and leaving nothing but ashes. In any case, after the whole storm died down, I felt this incredible feeling, like I had just risen to a completely separate plane of existance. My friend used the perfect word to describe it the other day: "Cleansed." That's exactly what I felt - cleansed with holy water, and what was an inferno burning inside me became some form of spiritual light emanating from my body. 

Besides that, I get amazing responses from many people about my writing, my zines and my writing and artistic productions. However, I can't manage to find a writing job. I realized that if I wanna work for some company in some writing position, I have to fit their standards and their style. This is why I can't manage to find a job. If I have to restrict myself, censore myself, edit myself, rework phrases over and over again, the end result will be a watered down, boring and senseless version of my capabilities.

This was one of my reasons for starting a feminist zine. I don't let myself be limited by editing and stylistic guidelines. I write what comes to mind and what feels right. Fuck professionalism, this is about expression, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, pure freedom that has been butchered by popular press and asshole editors driven by nothing but their insatiable thirst for money.

Long live zines! 

Peace, love and yes, my rage is definitely directed at you miserable parasitical ameobas pretending to be editors. Fuck you all, a million times over.

This is what will happen to your penis if you fuck with me.

 

I have a problem with food. A big problem.

I don't know if it's some rare, weird type of eating disorder or whatever, but it's definitely a problem, and it's definitely related to food.

Simply put, I hate food, but I find myself eating nonstop.

I always have to be munching on something. Whenever I go for groceries, I always wanna buy everything, but end up buying a minimal amount of food, and when I get home, I curse myself for not having enough food.

Then I eat. Like a pig. Then I either get a stomach ache or I feel like vomiting. And I ask myself "For fuck's sake, I know that whatever goes through my esophegus is gonna lead to disaster, so why do I keep shoving down shit?!"

Then there are times when I'm on the bus and my digestive system, being the sadistic little prick it is, decides to make me suffer:

"Aaaaand the urge to piss.... NOW!"

Or:

"Aaaaaand the urge to take a dump... NOW!"

This happens, without fail, whenever I'm in a situation or a place when a bathroom is nowhere to be found.

At times like these I think I should stop eating altogether, or at least fast for some time. Sometimes I even consider getting weekly enemas as a way to keep my intestines clean and at least take away this one lethal weapon that my digestive system has to make me suffer.

What's even worse is that whenever there is a bathroom, the urge suddenly disappears. It's as if my digestive system knows that if I were to relieve myself, it would actually make me feel good, and seeing me having a good time is something my sadistic organism cannot stand.

Which can also explain the other things I do that can potentially make me feel good but end up hurting me instead: Like getting high (lately it's becoming a drag) or having sex (the process and the climax create this aweful pain I cannot explain)...

I wish we didn't have to eat. I wish we could be like reptiles getting our energy from the sun, or like plants who only need nature to survive.

But no, I'm a human being, very ironically born into a Moroccan family where food is litterally a way of life. Whenever I'm with my family, that's all we do. Sometimes I find myself asking them: "We're eating again?? But we just ate yesterday!"

Another thing that bothers me about food - we need it to survive, like oxygen. Yet we pay for it. We go to the grocery store to BUY something we need to survive. What if one day we were to buy oxygen? At the rate we pollute our planet, there is no doubt in my mind that at some point, oxygen will become scarce and people, being the greedy capitalist assholes they usually are, will find a way to make profit from it by making us pay ridiculous amounts of money to get a breath of fresh air, which we will eventually pay because we will have no choice.

I hate food.

God, I'd kill for a sunny side up right now.

Peace, love and fuck that, I want a waffle!