Mephisto Mirrors

The visions and revisions of a species of culturish voyeurs...

I’m mad that a person thought it was okay to pull another person’s pants down during their performance in front of about 700 other people. I’m mad that a person thought it was a good idea to perform a sex act on another person without their consent. I’m mad that nobody made her leave. I’m mad that Danny had to actually wonder what he was supposed to do at that point. I’m mad that when I went home and said I had no respect for that girl, I was attacked for being a “slut-shamer” (after literally leading a girl to his hotel room at 3AM at her request) and, even more outrageously, for being jealous of the girl who sucked his dick. I’m mad that when two dudes pulled my pants down onstage, other people got mad too, but when it happened to Danny the initial reaction was like one big high-five. I’m mad that people are treating “The Thing” like it’s some legendary event. I’m mad that even though they know exactly who the girl is, nobody in the media will even talk to her. I’m mad that I get a bunch of emails a day asking me to talk about my best friend’s “misogyny” and “classless behavior”, from people who have heard only rumors and seen only one very blurry and inconclusive iPhone photo.

I won’t go into detail about the actual events because I was pretty drunk and I don’t want to tell the wrong story. I will say that it happened so quickly that nobody I talked to after the show even knew anything had happened (there was only one photo and no video—how rare is that). I will also say that whoever wrote on Reddit that Danny was “walking around the stage getting girls to grab his dick” is 100% false, and to blame someone for their own molestation is a shitty thing to do. Anybody who is exaggerating this tale to climax is also a lying fool, and to call it a blow job is even going a bit far because it was probably the fastest thing I’ve ever seen. “The Thing” was not a thing that Danny facilitated—it was an actual sexual assault, and somehow nobody gives a fuck about that but me.

It’s obvious that the reason nobody cares is because a girl did it to a boy. I said this on my blog, but I’ll say it again here—I had my pants ripped off onstage, and didn’t know what to do either because being naked in front of 1000 people is incredibly scary and there’s not much quick decision-making happening in your brain during that sort of thing. Now I’m prepared to kick a motherfucker in the teeth if he touches me at all, and I equip myself with giant boots for that reason. What is Danny supposed to do? The girl was at mouth-to-dick level already and to push her away, he would’ve had to either pushed her face or kicked her, and even the most gentle of either motion would immediately be labeled “abuse” by anyone watching. Guys pushing girls is not a good look when people are taking photos. So what was Danny supposed to do, other than back away, which he did? And if he had figured out a way to gently push the girl off him immediately without looking like he was smacking her in the face, he’s faced with attacks on his masculinity by every douchebro in the building. Yo dude, you don’t want your dick sucked, bro? Are you gay? Haha you’re gay you don’t want girls to suck your dick haha gay dude bro man swag!

Kitty Pryde writing on Vice about an incident involving Danny Brown “receiving oral sex onstage” (scare quotes for reasons that are probably obvious after reading the quote)—which I hadn’t actually heard about until I saw this article.

This hit a nerve for me, not because I’ve ever been through anything nearly as blatant as the incident in question, though I did have to deal with some ongoing discomfort recently involving a girl I’d just gotten to know who kept initiating physical contact with me that I didn’t want. She’s friends with one of my best friends, and kept showing up at shows and parties we were all at, and clearly she was just trying to mess with me and be funny with the stuff she was doing, but I was uncomfortable with it and wanted it to stop. And almost no one could be convinced to care. She and I had several progressively more uncomfortable conversations about it over the course of a few weeks, and the conversation in which I finally got the point across to her was so uncomfortable that she won’t come anywhere near me since it happened. Which I’m basically fine with because although I don’t hate this girl or anything, I definitely was uncomfortable whenever I was around her. But Kitty’s point in the article is well made—when a dude is uncomfortable with intimate physical contact that he didn’t initiate, what is he supposed to do? You can’t punch the person. No one will take you seriously if you say you didn’t want it to happen and you’d like it to stop. You’re forced to avoid the other person and then all your friends give you shit about it. I don’t have the sort of friends who’d call me GAY (especially since all my friends already know I’m not hetero), but I definitely got told I was making too big a deal out of it. So yeah, if you’re a dude, and a woman’s touching you in a way you’re not comfortable with, what is an acceptable way to deal with the situation? The fact that there’s no easy answer seems like a problem to me.

(Now let’s see how much shit I get for posting this.)

(Source: andrewtsks)

As the handful of people who follow me may have noticed (though it is more likely no one at all has), I have moved away from diligently absorbing the work of artists. Instead I have been racing to hurriedly consume images, among other things, in vast quantities as one being submitted to the Ludovico Technique may experience.  Music too was once something that was structured and even partially enjoyed because of my desire to pull names and assorted trivia out my back pocket. While I have been consuming aimlessly, these names, places, and realities of past and present art/history/reading (content of all nature, really) have been pushed to the way side. For me, the internet has become a field of frantic incoherent stimulus for my overworked and unfocused imagination. My inability to retain words that identify these ideas, sounds, and barrage of images (for the images are truly the worst of it) resounds with me daily. Part of me feels entirely neglectful. The other part sees this as the behavior of a content creator capitalizing on the selfish mantra, “those who can’t do, teach” in order to justify my habit of skipping over all the necessary details and cutting forth to strictly the meat. I need a goal once again to truly justify my manic web exploration, all those wiki-articles, all those hours peering at unknown works on Flickr, all the Youtube vlogs that get my voyeurish rocks off.

So here’s to change. Please enjoy this photo by photographer and illustrator Matt Mahurin. Mahurin has worked with musicians from Tom Waits to Cher to Bush. Also, he happens to be one of my new favorites. Write that last bit down.


Left: Klimt’s “Judith 1”, 1901. Right: Madame D’Ora’s photo of Anita Berber: Vienna, 1923 (Taken with Instagram)


Left: Klimt’s “Judith 1”, 1901. Right: Madame D’Ora’s photo of Anita Berber: Vienna, 1923 (Taken with Instagram)