Jelena Savic

I am a fuckn artist!

Angry Roma women and shit, fuck, the hell of dick, ass, pussy, tit & all that nastiness of otherness tropes February 24, 2017

3-tenderized-steaks

 White sisters. Do not like to hear disapproval of their fuckn solidarity in practice. No. Its angry talk, by default. And they are not women of anger, but of love. White sisterly love. And they never ask themselves in this love why the fuck are they to be in the position to be our Santas, its fckn un be lie va ble. They fckn never do.

***

Anger is not allowed for Roma women. Looks they give her! These white women. They look at her.  With that look, marking a big, fat, red line. In their non-violent,(imagine!) white hands, they clench that fat, red, pencil and they push it hard to the ground and draw it while they look at her. Watch what you say from now on! Watch if you fall beyond their mercy, their definitions of decency, reasonable arguments and discussions. Control yourself! Watch what you feel, and what you express! Watch yourself from their polite disciplining disapproval, their feelings and what they can express, and do! Watch yourself for they are not used to have to be aware of your potentially uncomfortable feelings which might disturb them, challenging their fckn sisterhood. O, but really, watch yourself not to disturb their fuckn feminist magnificence and their caring sisterly love for you. Do not shit on their fckn white privileged position to decide if they will care for you, these sisters. Watch out and do not step on their white toes, do not make them feel uncomfortable in their roles of your supporters and the ones who understand your problems and problems of your kind, better then you will ever understand them, which is given to them, by their position of Roma’s white sister helpers, and ho-ho-ho, only fckn bells on those Roma deer with such a tame eyes, carrying their sleigh can have a tone, a fuckn bright, resonant, and a fckn CHEERFUL one, announcing with joy merciful citizen’s responsibility they exercise on their projects, in their fckn Santa feminist clothing.

 White sisters. Do not like to hear disapproval of their fuckn solidarity in practice. No. Its angry talk, by default. And they are not women of anger, but of love. White sisterly love. And they never ask themselves in this love why the fuck are they to be in the position to be our Santas, its fckn un be lie va ble. They fckn never do. Its just the way it is, and this position is, of course, understood. And why would that be a problem??? They want to help, for God’s sake! And who could possibly say NO to Santa. Can you imagine saying to Santa : “oh , bugger off you old, fat, white, obnoxious men, with that exaggerated, artificial laugher, abusing animals. And stuff your merciful judgments and gifts up to your ass!? No. We are all to wait in our wretched, little, Roma, poor humbleness on their expert and sisterly assessments, projects, and the stars shine on our sky, and enlighten us and our empty fridges in darkness when they look upon us. And they never ask themselves, feeling how “oh, its too much, its just aggressive and violent”, why the fuck are they the ones in the position to make decisions who was good and deserving their gifts, and who was not this year. And they never ask who decided which role they will play in our Roma wretched fckn lives, who the hell gave them that privileged social position to make any fckn decision what so ever about the lives of the others. Fuckn white women in solidarity and their fckn projects for helping Roma women.

Well, I wish nice, white women in solidarity stuff their narcissistic images of themselves as  women in solidarity and Roma helpers into their throat and choke on it. I mean, If I am to be somebody’s bitch, I reckon I make some real money out of it, at least for the commodities they got from their mama and papa and their mama and papa, while my family back in generations cleaned their shit. I wish they choke on the anger of all Roma women whom they left silenced with their money and their sisterhood, unspoken and unheard, as much as I wish Roma men and women doing the same to choke on it.  To them, from some reason, probably learned double standards from white women, I wish to choke even more. And I piss on their insulted and disturbed sense for decency, as P pissed on Joe in that horrible fckn von Trier’s movie, which got some use now in my fucked up mental space.

And FUCK YOU. Yes, FUCK YOU. Now, there’s your reason to finally, morally indignant, shut your white sensitive ears, eyes and hart for good, and never to care for any Roma women saying NO to your merciful gifts of solidarity, with a fine, nice and proper justification. And fuck me, for being nice again to write this to you, sharing with you my fuckn thoughts and feelings, like I owe you something. But, its not, again, about you, its about me, makes me feel little more decent. At the end, writing, as poetry, is not a luxury.

And , as you can see on that link, I will finish with saying what I already said to some people before-I am not your fuckn deer, I am not the Gyspy meet to feed on.

Poetry is not for decoration

Why are you here

Worried about hate

Towards others

Towards yourself

To confirm your belief about hate

To established if it is justified and true

What it means to be hated

Another perspective to add to your understanding of hate

Why are you here?

To hear stories

What about happy endings?

Why am I here

To tell a story? To help you to understand?

Is it about you?

Again about you

I do not particularly like monologues

They look too much like confessions

I confess I was hated and I suffered accordingly

In a designated public space to admit this

Silent corner in a silent room for speech

If I yell would you hear me?

Would you see me through the glass?

Silent puppeteer show for you

Do I have to act out to convey this massage of suffering?

Do I have to play a monkey?

There is something deeply humiliating in the confessional mode of talking about being hated and suffering

Spilling my guts

living it through again while my throat shrinks and dries

applying my black belt emotional skills unavoidably trained through 35 years

to keep it on unnoticeable level for human ears

Dignified

Strength

To find strength in myself

for the cause & social responsibility

Tiring

It is tiring

believing in the system which produces hate once again

believing you

providing for you

And why do you deserve feeding?

Who are you to me to tell you how I suffered?

To confess anything

Do I have a choice?

And at the end what do you do with this pain?

Poetry is not for decoration

Is it easy for you? Is solidarity easy for you? Does it come naturally to you? Is everybody the same to you and you do not even notice people’s color or their class or their education or their accent or their clothes or their believes or their gender or their sexuality or their disabilities? It comes so easy? Really? Equals behind the merit academic doors

I will not serve to you or anyone as a tool to feel better about yourself

I am not a badge for solidarity or multiculturalism or your concern for underdogs of this society

And you do not get this

you also

you feminist white educated person

Do not ever think you are in solidarity with me

You do not get to be in that position so easily

You don’t know me

Don’t ever think you know me

Don’t dare to think you know me because you wrote or read about suffering, marginalized, Holocaust, women or Roma

or you had some Roma friends or you worked on projects about Roma or you love Roma culture

Don’t ever think you deserve in any moment

me to tell you

how I feel

how I suffered

like you would from your poor mahala interviewee

like I owe you
because you strongly believe communication is a cooperative project

Don’t dare to think you can count on that

Don’t dare to think you can use my pain

you Roma

building your career on Roma

you Roma advocates

you Roma artist

working with Roma models like they are pieces of meet

Gypsy venison

stamping your interpretations on their Roma flesh with the hot iron of your unacknowledged privileged positions

silencing in the space you call free of hate

with the coupon of your Roma identity so you get them cheaper

Fuck you

I am not your Gypsy meet to feed on

I don’t owe you anything

Don’t ever think you are entitled to hear about the pain of the other

I am not a colorful prop ready to use in your idea of multiculturalism, solidarity, resistance, remembrance or freedom

This glass cannot be broken without you hurting yourself