Noplace, Oslo proudly presents:
18.12.15 - 03.01.16
Opening: Friday 18.12.15, 20:00 - 23:00
Opening hours: 14-17, Saturdays and Sundays
Noplace will be closed during Xmas (26.12 - 27.12).
My face is covered by a blanket, my back is laying on the warm sand of the beach. Or is it the warm feeling I have of bleeding enormously from my crotch and the back of my head. I no longer have an identity behind this blanket, bleeding from my behind. This is the last thing you will ever hear from me, as dead men do not speak. I am indigenous, and I am ancient. I have seen these waters since I first saw light. I have eaten these sands since I was able to open my mouth. I have danced with the ocean since I could walk.
So I will tell you from my last breath, gasping the grotesque, until I enter the state of death. The warm feeling of surfing in the salty ocean. The surf board is made by my own hands. Adrenaline pumps into my blood, and my dark skin color is even darker now sunburned, yearning for more.
Sitting on the sands, I was watching people from different countries swimming, bathing in my home water. I loved some of them, but the others I detested. Some people would think that they could own my home country, its salty banks and waters, its sun scorched people. They seemed to come for just the sake of bathing, but in reality they came for our sandwiches. They ate all our sandwiches. More and more and more, never being able to fill their holes with enough bread and meat. Then they ate all our animals, forests and trees. Now they wanted to drink our water, to finish up their everlasting meal. Suddenly out of nowhere a flash of bandits, thugs and hooligans, masked and draped in black. Armed to the death. The same first light that approached my eyes when I was born, was now again before me. This time it was not a slow, mellow approaching light, but a sudden drop of lightning leaving me motionless.
I hear shots, people crying, people dying. I feel the weight of a blanket on my face, the warmth of my home sands and my own blood. I am wiped out, my indigenous identity is destroyed in a second, leaving emptiness behind.
Someone threw a blanket on my face and body when I died, either out of pity or like I was a worthless dog.