2FACED1.com shows one persons two different faces in photos;
Persona 1: WHAT YOU WANT TO BE CONSIDERED AS
Persona 2: WHAT YOU FEAR TO BE CONSIDERED AS
This leads to a discussion about stereotypes and inner fears of getting misunderstood by the surroundings. Thoughts that every thinking modern day person does reflect upon. We're asking people from an innercity context where old categories as ethnicity, nationality, gender, sexuality and class are reassessed, why they choose to look like they do. We’re diggin' deep, peeling off garments, codes and attributes. We’re searching for transnational identities - is the conclusion that we choose whoever we want to be today?!
A 2FACED1 STATE OF MIND
A 2FACED1 is highly aware of existing stereotypes related to your own ethnicity, nationality, gender, sexuality and class. You’re trying to avoid them but sometimes also play with them to make people think twice about who you are. Two faced doesn’t mean anything negative here, it explains the double folded view you have on identity if you’re not the existing norm. It means you have the feet in different worlds, can move between them but feel rather at home in that space in between. You've stepped out of your comfort zone and have become one of the new identities where ol' categories are mashed up and rootlessness and non-given identity just means major possibilities.
2FACED1 is a state of mind, 2FACED1.com is a display-window for that mindset and the network of 2FACED1 includes all of you progressive, non-stereotypes with a double perspective on identity.
2FACED1.com:
Decida - Editor, Founder, Creative Director Oscar Stenberg - Web, Photography Linn Marcusson - Writer, Style Assistant (Gypsie's Mega Trip) Spoek Mathambo - (the Zombo Blog)
2FACED1s:
Under Construction
THIS SITE LET YOU SEE THE WORLD TROUGH A 2FACED1'S PERSPECTIVE!
Oh heeello little bloggy. So sorry for the long time no see. But I've had a small intergrity crisis so I couldn't write. But then I remembered that I don't giva a fuck if other people think I expose myself too much when I'm writing. Because I don't. So now I'm here again as you personal life n ass exposer. And I know that You, Google and grandma might know who I fucked last year, but the secrets of Linn the Gypsie King are still very well kept where they should be - In My Super Secret Brain. So random dudes, ex, and future lovers, you don't have to worry. Just because I got a blog doesn't mean that I have no integrity. And if you think so - YOU'RE A CONSERVATIVE PRUDISH DUMBASS.
Anyways.... The most sensationalin my liferight now is, according to Alex,that I yesterday said that a person was sweet. Alex got totally over-excited about "this sign that possibibly could mean that my loving potential wasn't dead" and propagated that I should stay home and fall in love instead of going to India next week. But I made sure that still, my problem wasn't that I can't fall in love, it's that I don't fall in love with idiots and that I prolematize "the monogamous heterosexual relationsship as the only possible relationsship. So now it's OK that I go to india again and now we're doing some serious stalking operations together to find this wonderful hotty I just know the first name of. Doesn't work that well though.
The non-egoistic summary of 2011 can be read at Decida's blog. Gypsie’s Mega Trip's year summary is always an Ego Summary. This is my version of 2011:
Didn't die. Didn't even end up in jail.
But I ended up in Mexico and Belize.
Cured my existential crisis with rum, coke and sex.
Behaved like a sixteen year old in Ayia Napa.
Had been cheaper to go there instead.
But life felt good for a while so WTF.
Then Swedish House Maffia made another stupid song.
And everyone fucked like they were playing charades.
What people did or didn't do with their assholes continued to define their sexuality.
And the multinational corporation “Western Hegemony” continued to (re)produce postcolonial, heterosexist ideas faster than Mc Donalds made their burgers even this year.
And when everyone became "Facebook political" .
Aka Not Political At All.
I had enough.
Wanted to die.
But got another ugly haircut instead.
And went to Ibiza.
Tried to cure my existential crisis with rum, coke and sex again.
Didn't work that time either.
So I was manic-depressive 2.0 all summer.
And my apartment turned into a crack house.
An orgie of Wanting Something More Than This.
The never ending story.
The forever ending story.
Then it was Saturday again.
And another one of you.
So I took off your clothes.
And there was nothing left of you.
So I fucked your empty shell.
And they said I was afraid of love.
But I was just afraid of emptyness.
And it won't be a Happy New Year this year either.
But happiness is just a capitalistic construction anyway.
Once again I’ve come to the conclusion that I hate all uptight innercity parents. Everything is always their fault, my own misery included. But this time, I don’t hate them ‘cause they block the entire sidewalk with their stupid hipster strollers. I hate them because they name their kids silly dog names and creepy hollywoodish shit like Destiny. But now that I listened to KI-C & JoJo’s “All My Life”, my stone hard hateful thug heart melted a little. So I added a societal perspective to my egocentric whining and started this whole name thing perhaps isn’t just silly bullshit. Because even if it feels like a redundant upperclass syndrome when Gwyneth Paltrow and The Beckham couple complains over the difficulty in naming their kids after fruits (Apple) and areas in NYC (Brooklyn), there’re actually some revolutionary tendencies in this shiiiiiet.
I remember when I was was a kiddo and wanted to change my name to Veranda (verandah in english). I thought it was the best name ever, but my parents refused. They didn't want people to think I was a roofed opened porch thingy. I “needed” a name that showed I was a human being. Something like Clara Linn Josephine. But what mom and dad didn’t think of (or probably it was just what they did) was that with such a name, everyone would categorize me as a girl. Something pretty much as constructed and inhumane as a verandah in this society. Because the composition of the letters L-I-N-N constitute a name encoded in a linguistic system. A system that requires a constant maintenance of meanings to make us understand that it’s not a piece of furniture, but something we call a person with a specific sex determination.
Society's dichotomies and categorizations are of course much more complex than that. We’ve had people named Dick, Axel (Shoulder) and Clementine for a long time, so naming a kid to Apple perhaps isn’t that revolutionary. But doesn’t it fuck a little with our structural system of assumptions and knowledge? I would like to see it as an unconscious beginning of a deconstruction of the language.
This summer I’ve met Ira (kid), Alice (dog), Kenneth Svensson (goat), Sigge (kid), Mio (kid) and Milou (kid). Mom thought I’ve joined the IRA and got pretty hysterical when I said I’ve been hanging out with Ira. My psychologist thought Mio was a horse for three weeks and I had to get rid of July’s hotty aka Control Freak who got jealous when I said I’d been out walking with Alice for three hours. Alice, a dog I later described as very beautiful to the Control Freak, but not someone I planned to fuck with since I’m not into bestiality.
And it's all these misunderstandings. These conscious or unconscious things that somehow fuck with the structure of interpretation and understanding. A structure that constantly produces illusions of specific meaning in a system of knowledge and a social construction we call language. Name your kid Mixtape. Let Anna be a (hu)man. Call me woman, call me boy. We’re a bunch of 2FACED1’s who constantly will re-invent and change it's definitions. Because there are no women and there are no boys. We’ve deconstucted the words, they were all just empty illusions. And I promise that you’ll be my post-structural hero when you name your kid Veranda. But you better not buy a fucking hipster stroller.
Stockholm Pride and Stockholm Fashion week and everything is so fun all the time and everything's going my way and I've made a new faboulous outfit and I'm a fucking pathetic Britney Spears song 'cause I'm so lucky but I cry cry cry in my lonely heart and I hate Spotify for not having a function that prevents me from listening to all these pathetic emo crap I stopped listening to hundered years ago cause I don't wanna sit in my window in a too small Saves The Day t-shirt, overwhelmed by anxiety from feelings I repressed ten years ago.///Cute Without The E
STOCKHOLM PRIDE started today!!! It's like the only time each year where you can drink beer and get intellctual stimulated at the same time. Ok it's maybe not the easiest combo, but it might work for a while if you eat a good dinner. Anyways... The theme for this year's festival is OPENNESS and focusing on how open our society is today and how we can make it better. I'm really excited for this year's program that feels very2FACED1by bringing togetherdifferent perspectives instead of havingthemas separate identity political elements (which happens too often). It will be a week of discussions from everything from sex, sexual practices and identities to swedish asylum politics and what it is to be considered “Swedish”. Who gets to pass as a man or a woman, and what is the attitude towards those who do not want to be either.
CHRISTY TURLINGTON NAOMI CAMPBELL LINDA EVANGELISTA / VOUGE PHOTOGRAPHY 90'S
Ok I'm back again. Had toshut downmy lifefor a while. Had some problems tostayinside the hegemonical norms and boundaries last week so I got diagnosed as too slutty, queer and psycho for this society. It's kinda hard to live when you should have been born into one of Gregg Araki's 90's movie's instead of real life.
I’m a creepy chameleon. I can adapt to all types of environments I end up in. Give me a Volvo 240 and a snus* and I'll look like the local white trash nazi’s in Österbymo in two seconds First I thought it was because I'm really bad at packing. But it also seems like I, in a very strange way, have the right external conditions to look like a totally different person just by changing clothes. Not even my haircut and tattoos seem to prevent me from looking like Dennis the Menace when I wear suspender jeans. And when I went to to Ibiza, I forgot beachwear, so the Italian neighbour gave me a pair of minimal tanga’s. The only thing that didn't make me look like I was born to do coke and fuck on the beach forever was my refrigerator-white ass. And this weekend I went to Stickan’s trailer park in the woods without any warm clothes. The weather was of course shitty, so Stickan gave me a long batik skirt, leg-warmers and a crazy patterned scarf. After five minuets, my hair had started growing dreads and I was almost about to start dancing with trees and believe in love as the soulution to everything. But luckily I didn’t. I just stopped smoking. FUCKING CREEPY!!!.
PS. This is why I don't wear dresses. I mean, I would turn into Barbie after one minute andnot be able toeitherliveorpoop.
*SNUS is the swedish tabacco you put under your lip and make you look like disgusting.
There was a super mom in the laundry room today. She had a three week old baby. She showed it to me. She also had a husband, an Engineer job and a optimistic mind like a TV-shop actor. She asked me if I had children. I said no. So she asked me if I had a boyfirend. I said no. She looked at me like I was the bullied kid in Primary School who'll do anything to be a part of the game. A poor bastard without any meaning in life. ShesaidthatIcertainlywillfindthe right onesoon. I said thanks and decided to becomeaserial killerwho will strangle everyone who believe that Mikael Persbrandt/Sylvester Stallone and some ugly kids must be everyone's meaning of life.
Yesterday a middle-aged man asked me if he could take a picture of me. The reason why I mention age and gender here is because 99% of the humans who could have been just humans, have instead become the category Middle-Aged Men: A category that embodies our society’s power structures and got brains corrupt with postcolonial sexist bullshit. So there I was again. In the middle of some kinda situation with a human, or eventually a middle-aged man, who wanted something from me. But this one seemed pretty happy so I thought I could work on my prejudices and hope for a better world, so I said OK. After spending the day with the very derivated Decida and Shamoun, I went to a book store… And who do you think sneaks up behind a book shelf and say HIIIIII THEEEEERE ARE YOU HAPPY TO SEE ME AGAIN!???? The Very Very Same Middle Aged Man with The Very Very Same Happy Face (but a bit more creepy this time) of course. And after X number of creepy situations with creepy middle-aged men, I'm a little bit too used to it. So instead of leaving because I might deal with a creepy stalker, I start behaving like Doctor Incest in random stupid Readers' Queries where everything always is soooo ok and normal. So I say heeey yeah, nice to see you again too. Please stalk me, flash your saggy dick, grab my ass and do whatever you want because you middle-aged men are always soooo ok and normal and I’m sooo sorry that I have to go now 'cause it was really nice to talk to you again, have a nice day bla bla bla. And then I walk home, become myself again and wanna kill my suicidal kindness, the world and every middle-aged man once again.
Here's a small extract from my Middle Aged-Men-Situations CV.(OBS! Doesn't include the usual every-other-weekend sexual harassment)
BACKGROUND MUSIC:
2002: A hunted middle-aged man throws himself in through our kitchen window in the middle of the night. My dad runs down naked from his bedroom upstairs and fights with the intruder til police arrives. Blood everywhere.
2002: A naked and masturbating middle-aged man hides in our horse paddock to watch the swimming children on the other side of the stream with binoculars.
2002: Our neighbors and the local day nursery tell us that a middle-aged man “steals” baby poop from the diapers in the garbage. (Att: He didn’t steal the whole diaper. He just took out the poop from it and brought it home or something).
2003: A middle-aged man street cast me to be the leading part in a porn movie and starts to harass me when I decline.
2003: A middle-aged man lays naked on the pier and masturbates at the city “beach”
2004: My boss says that he heard that I’ve pierced nipples and wonder if I fuck girls and if I cum when they lick my titties.
2010: A middle-aged man flash his cock and masturbates “for” me and other park guests.
2011: A middle-aged man walks up to me while I’m peeing behind a tree. He bends down, takes a close-up look at my cunt and asks how much it would cost to buy me for a night.
Yesterday when I was buying LÖSGODIS, (differentkinds ofcandyyoubuyper kilo), I realized that I have some kinda manic need to pick all the colors of candy in the box, so none of the colors feel left out. This means that I come home with a lot of candy I don't really like. For example, WHINE GUMS in every color. And even though I only like the yellow and the white, I need to eat the others so they don't feel left out and think that I think they're disgusting. Because that would be horrible!
This is some kinda new thing going on. And I don't think I would have understood that it was something odd if it wasn't for mytheorizingrational consciousness thatcame inandasked whatthehellI wasdoing. So I thought about it for a while... Came to the conclusion that I'm not autistic. I'mjustsodamnindoctrinatedto thinkofeveryone elseexceptmyself. So I don't even choose the candy I want anymore.
VIA 
KURT & COURTNEY BY UNKNOWN
VIA 
VIA 
