Queercore Xmas gift: "Searching for the “core” in queercore"

Chili Com Carne is looking for foreigner publishers for the following book: Anarchoqueer? Queercore!

Guess what's the book about? Hell to you if you don't figure out. It's was written by renowed music critic Rui Eduardo Paes (or REP, his friendly acronym) and designed and illustrated by various Chili Com Carne artists: Bráulio Amado, Astromanta, Hetamoé, Joana Estrela, Joana Pires and Rudolfo. Fantastic dildoistic cover was done by Spanish artist Carles G.O.D.

The Queercore became empty in recent years, despite the existence of new freedom grants, despite the signs that the hecatomb of capitalism can happen and despite the nomadism of the sexes. Loads of very good and provocative Art was produced in the impulse to stick your fingers in warm and moisty places, but was it enough? The Hardcore Queer still exists, it resists because it's on the defensive and because it's weak. Like it's been genetically programmed to fail. Still, when we hear a shrill feedback of the Apostles or the Nervous Gender everything, absolutely everything, seems possible ... Let's believe on that, okay?


About the author: 

Rui Eduardo Paes is a rare example of something rare: a journalist whose work is as essential and informative as it is well-researched and passionate. - Dan Warburton (Wire, Paris Transatlantic)

Music critic and writer free-lancer. Chief-editor of the jazz and improvised music online magazine JAZZ.PT, after six years of editions in paper. Artistic director of the festival Jazz no Parque, produced by Serralves Foundation. Author of nine books about music mixed with multimedia, politics and queer theory. Collaborative work with Culturgest and the recording labels Clean Feed and Shhpuma. Co-founder, with Carlos "Zíngaro", of the artists association Granular, and member of its direction for 11 years, until 2013. Co-founder of the Ernesto de Sousa Fellowship (Experimental Intermedia Foundation / Luso-American Foundation / Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation) and member of its permanent jury for 20 years, until the last edition in 2013. Former assessor of the ACARTE Service / Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation's board of directors.

This is the first chapter, "Searching for the “core” in queercore", translated in English:

Dear Johnny Depp,

I hope this finds you well. It’s me, Brad, your greatest fan writing you again to say hello.

Well, it’s been a crazy, crazy few weeks. I guess the big thing is I finally made it out east to New York. Boy, that place sure is insane. The journey there was a trip. It took over two days on Greyhound bus to get there. Sleeping and eating was impossible so the only way to get through it was nibble on a little baggie of meth, listen to bootlegs of your band ‘P’(man, you guys were under-rated – get the band back together, dude!) and jerk off a bunch of times.

Fortunately it turns out that most people who travel on Greyhounds are deviants so I got some help. I jerked off a couple of guys at once in the cubicle, which was a tight squeeze, but we managed and I had them cum on my face and in my ear, and I also got fucked in the ass by a real-life genuine native American Indian who had all this long ratty hair, real gnarly, a little like yours in ‘Pirates Of The Caribbean’, on the back seat at about 5am somewhere near Pensacola. His dick was big, but not too big and I was grateful for the distraction. Also, he never said a word to me, except for when he came he whispered “Krispy Kreme” in my ear, which was weird, but not that weird I guess. I don’t know, maybe it is weird. Or maybe it’s a cultural thing. This being my first trip outside of Lubbock, Texas I couldn’t really say.

So anyway, when I finally arrived in NYC I felt like Dorothy in ‘The Wizard Of Oz’, only instead of Toto I had a bag containing meth, weed and some lube. A quick bit of glory hole dick-sucking in Port Authority (where I tasted my first black cock – a lot like white cock) and I was on my way. I found a bar and got a little drunk on beer. I guess maybe I got spiked or something, because the next thing I remember is waking up in some street with my asshole itchy and bleeding, but with more money in my pocket than I started. Weird, huh? Hey, maybe people in New York aren’t as bad as they say. I sat there smoking a cigarette and the street signs told me I was in Brooklyn. Crazy.

I came to this other bar with posters in the window advertising a band that playing there and they were called – this is so weird – ‘GAY FOR JOHNNY DEPP’!!! It was like a sign from God or something so I paid the $5 fee and went in.

Inside there were all these kids jumping around with no shirts on, and just looking at all those writhing torsos got me so hot I just had to gorge myself on a nice greasy crank, which I did in the toilets. It was attached to some punker kid in a Fallout Boy T-shirt – hot! After he came in mouth he called me a fag and punched me in the face, which was also hot. His cum tasted like Dr. Pepper, so he was probably straight edge. Back in the bar I got a proper look at ‘GAY FOR JOHNNY DEPP’, who were actually four guys with guitars and shit, each of them pretty hot in their own way, though not as hot you, Johnny. Sometimes I can cum just looking at pictures of you, Johnny. I don’t even have to touch my dick.

Anyways. The more songs they played, the wilder the crowd got. When the singer guy took off of most of his clothes and jumped into the crowd I tried to get my tongue up his ass but he was too quick for me. They’re a really fierce band though and I’d happily blow them all for free. I guess I’d describe them as ‘hardcore’ and I bought a copy of their debut full-length CD ‘THE POLITICS OF CRUELTY’ on the way out.

Afterwards reeling out into the street, drunk and high, I bumped into a squadron of marines just back from Iraq, who took me back to their YMCA and took turns rimming, fucking and bashing me. At one point two of them tried to get both their dicks in my ass at once, while another skull-fucked me, and I jerked off two more. A sixth guy just stood there, drinking a can of Bud and filming it.

The weird thing was I hadn’t been to the bath-room all day – apart from to suck dick – so a couple of them ended up with all this runny shit on their cocks, which they weren’t pleased about, so they made me lick it off while they made out with each other. I guess this went on for about four hours, until I was covered in bruises and crusted US military jizzum which fell off me like snowflakes when I finally limped out into the dawn light feeling tired but pretty good. After a big breakfast at a Denny’s I had a little more meth, took a cab back to the station, blew the driver in some side-street, had a couple more cocks in the toilets then got on the bus for an uneventful 48 hour trip back, the boredom punctuated only by a few bouts of mutual masturbation with this guy and his son and eating the ass of a truck driver at a station somewhere in Tennessee. I belched cum and asshole all the way home.

I don’t know what happened to that CD I bought.

Anyway, that’s all for now, Johnny. I enclose a pair of my jockeys and some more Polaroid pictures of my dick and spread ass cheeks. Good luck with your next movie. Write me sometime.

Your friend,

Bradley

The letter above was not a genuine letter but rather the press release from a hardcore band from New York published in 2004 along with the “Erotically Charged Dance Songs for the Desperate” EP. The guitarist Sid Jagger (Joseph Grillo) and the vocalist Marty Leopard (Arty Shepherd) were the main mentors of this project inspired on a homo-erotic obsession for the actor Johnny Depp. This fixation resulted in lyrics such as «Cos I want my Johnny bleeding, fuck him in the ass», sung in a high pitched voice and against the backdrop of a wall of punk-metal distortion. Their first full-length album would come out in 2007 entitled “The Politics of Cruelty”.

Promotional copies of the record were sent out to the media along with the supposed letter to Depp. Beforehand, the journalists had taken receipt of other promotional materials including condoms, gay erotic photographs, rubber gloves and bottles of amyl nitrate. In 2008, Gay For Johnny Depp made an United Kingdom tour in which they took to the stage wearing only a sock hung on their genitalia. They brought an end to the band in 2011 following the release of the album “What Doesn’t Kill You, Eventually Kills You”. A prophetic title undoubtedly…

The group in question was one of the few labelled queercore that, in more recent years, still justified the core part of this trend’s name. From the 1990s, at the peak of the queer-anarchist front to hardcore, through to contemporary times, the movement allowed itself to become contaminated by pop and by dance music. In many cases, this evolution was accompanied by the depoliticisation of the postures and the discourses even if with some important and notable exceptions. As a general rule, the radicalism of the beginnings faded with clear cases of accommodation and, if you can imagine it, even bourgeoisification. Fame and the accompanying money corrupt music and this proves just as true in the alternative and do-it-yourself fields. As G.B. Jones, perhaps the greatest anarcho-queer reference, stated, «rock was once rebel music but it has now become establishment».

Nevertheless, the still hardcore faction of queercore still remains certainly alive and very resistant. What we need to do is to search and separate the wheat from the chaff. Easy to find are examples such as Limp Wrist – information about them even appears in Portuguese due to their legions of followers in Brazil. The band is made up of four middle aged men with beer bellies and would be confused with bikers if their hands, precisely their hands, did not stretch out in such a way as any other faggot with self-respect. They play in leather and underwear, exploiting their daddy-like appearances in an environment that is above all youthful. Scott Moore, the guitarist, is very clear about the position that they place themselves in: «I am not some irritating gay, I am an aberration. I do not have the slightest interest in belonging to the world of the right-doers.» Limp Wrist transformed themselves into a symbol of punk purity in a scene that seems otherwise to have prostituted itself.

The group was founded in 1998 by musicians from different cities across the United States and who had already played in bands such as Los Crudos or Devoid of Faith. Their song “I Love Hardcore Boys, I Love Boys Hardcore” soon became a hymn for the queer cause. Martin Sorrondeguy, the vocalist, is also a cinema director and was the editor of a zine, Maximum Rock N Roll, thus continuing the tradition of this musical current getting involved in writing and social and political reflection. He has inclusively also become the spokesperson for queer Latinos who in Amérikkka experience the dual oppression of being sexual “deviants”, as Brad would say in the fake letter to Johnny Depp, and Hispanic in a highly racist society.

It is undeniable that Limp Wrist lack the affirmative character of the pro-socialist texts of Gary Floyd and the Dicks. A sign of the time perhaps. An awful lot of water has passed since they launched the single “Dicks Hate the Police” in the already far off year of 1980, with the Berlin Wall still standing and Perestroika yet to deliver Russia to capitalism and the nationalist right of Putin rather than achieving the old aspiration of Stateless communism. However, without the Dicks, without Floyd inviting the public to play with his penis against an explosive bed of guitar feedback, there would have been no Limp Wrist. These have, in fact, a song dedicated to Floyd and the other pioneers of queercore such as Randy Turner of the Big Boys and Joshua Plague of the Mukitteo Fairies – “Ode”.

There would also similarly have been no Dead Betties with their intense, even violent, music and their lyrics blowing away all the social mainstream norms ever since they were launched in Brooklyn in 2001 and taking their message out to emblematic venues such as CBGB and Knitting Factory, emerging out of niches at festivals such as Homo-a-Gogo and the LGBTQ Pride demonstrations. They have been portrayed as a queer version of Sonic Youth, due to the influence that the first, more punk phase of the now extinct group of Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon had on the bass player and androgynous vocalist Joshua “Starr” Ackley.

Without the Dicks, there would also have been no Nü Sensae, a Canadian project founded in 2008 by Andrea Lukic and Daniel Pitout, the latter a known activist in the fight against AIDS and, according to one critic, «the cutest person on the planet». They gained in profile with their brutalist rock, practically noise, album “TV, Death and the Devil” and published a monthly newsletter printed typographically and sent out not by e-mail but rather in the old fashioned means used by extreme-left organisations: by mail. We would note that queercore was effectively born in Canada and along with another descendant of the Dicks, the Shearing Pinx of Vancouver.

The frontmen, Nic Hughes and Jeremy Van Wyck, picked up the hardcore essentialism and made it experimental, forging that which has come to be called “weird punk”. The Shearing Pinx recorded their improvisations in a jam style approach before sticking pieces of one and another together until they either had a theme or that they thought «lasted long enough», as the bass player Van Wyck explained. This was just what they did in collaborations with Nü Sensae and other bands with elucidative names such as U.S. Girls or AIDS Wolf, on the grounds of seeking to «interact with the community». There are occasions when they seem to display all the dissonance of industrial rock with others when they more closely approximate sludge-metal. «I’m not a violent guy» – said Hughes. «What’s happening is that this city is so very, very, very heavy, all the time and in such an extreme way, that we have to discharge all of this bad energy.»

With an even greater strength of reason, this is all that happens with the New Yorkers God is My Co-Pilot. This group, with its variable composition fronted by a bisexual couple, Sharon Topper and Craig Flanagin, managed to interweave the primary nature of punk with the shorn down sound of some free jazz, calling on partners including the saxophonist John Zorn and the guitarist Elliott Sharp, among others. «We are associating rock, a sexist language, with other musical styles, to better deal with the identity of the genre within the scope of its own terms of complexity», Topper clarified as regards the motivations behind the songs that, as a general rule, last less than three minutes. They very frequently take sex as their theme, whether the celebration of fist-fucking in “List”, lesbianism in “They Often Look Fr.” or moral patterns of behaviour in “Sex is for Making Babies”. There are no major “political” considerations coming out of their vocals – the anarchism of God is My Co-Pilot proves implicit. This, for example, involves Sharon’s usage of a vibrator to play the guitar strings.

More difficult to ascertain is whether the She Devils, from Argentina, and active ever since 1995, had any type of influence over queercore in the northern hemisphere, especially as the United States had thus far been well served by projects exclusively made up of women. Patricia Pietrafiesa, the lead member of the group, also got involved in the fanzine movement with the publication of Resistencia but this was written in Spanish and very probably did not reach any Hispanic readers in the empire of the stars and stripes. What we may be sure of is that their virulent punk led to the appearance of a band with the same name in Springfield, Illinois, with the latter less primary in their approach (their dark ambiences have already been compared to the Melvins) and worthy of the designation cuntcore. The themes of the original She Devils span feminism, homosexual rights, ecology and do-it-yourself. They engaged in the campaign to legalise abortion in their country with a record split with the Fun People entitled “El Aborto Ilegal Asesina my Libertad” and functioning as the front line for a wave of political-cultural agitation with the organisation of the Belladona Festival, open to female artists from whatever their respective field.

Far better known are Tribe 8, descendants via Leslie Mah of the old-school punk band Anti-Scrunti Faction. The connection was duly recognised by Tribe 8 when they made a version of the song “Slave to my Estrogen”, by Anti-Scrunti, called “Estrofemme” in 1998. In any case, there is the pioneering work of the also well known ASF who got certified in queercore with their mention in the fanzine J.D.s, which had originally launched this entire movement. Formed in San Francisco, the group Tribe 8 sought with this name not only to restore the English expression that had once been used to refer to women who like women, “tribade”, but also alluding to how queers also constitute a tribe, whether for the good or for the bad.

Even more so than Leslie Mah, taking a leading role in this collective was the vocalist Lynn Breedlove, a FTM (female-to-male) who performed in concert with breasts on display (and still having them today) and wearing a strap-on that would get offered from mouth to mouth of the audience members closest to the stage. The controversy generated did not end there: their songs dealt with issues such as sadomasochism, its attitude was a challenge to feminist and lesbian orthodoxies and on stage commonly simulated the castration of a rubber penis during the playing of a song about rape, “Gang Castrate”. When accused of inciting violence by event producers and women’s organisations who attempted to boycott their live performances, Breedlove declared, straightly and bluntly, that the use of force is always acceptable whenever somebody is being raped and so much the better if the perpetrator ends up dead.

«For us, to jump from one side to the other, screaming and brandishing knives makes us feel better. We are survivors of sexual abuse and censorship is always repression irrespective of however you justify it. If you don’t like my art, don’t look for it. What I would do if forced to match your concepts of art would no longer be art, no longer the expression of my life and my experiences. Whenever they censor some Tribe 8 record or they stick on those ‘parents advisory’ labels what I tell the kids is “they won’t sell you the record? Then steal it and steal a few beers to listen to it with”», commented the vocalist.

Breedlove believes that the censors seeking to stop Tribe 8 had the goal of avoiding the unavoidable: «They know that the kids are increasingly listening to more alternative music, that they are the future and that the future is revolution. It’s the same shit that has happened with rock‘n’roll ever since Elvis Presley. It’s revolution that they are scared of and one of these days censorship is going to take root in our homes. When that happens, it’ll be too late. But it’s a revolution that we are making, in the anarchist fashion, underground. “Do-it-yourself” is the key. We cannot accept any “help” from publishers and the media controlled by money and power on the risk of diluting what we have to say. This would overthrow our revolutionary objectives. We need to continue working in our network where we pass on our information and not them.»

Lynn Breedlove continued with this activity after Tribe 8 broke up. He published a book, “Godspeed”, performed in various films, including the one he himself produced, “Estrofemme”, and “The Yo-Yo Gang” by G.B. Jones and “Shut Up White Boy” by Vu T. and Thu Ha, and also starred in spectacles such as “Lynnee Breedlove’s One Freak Show” and “Man with a Vagina”. Furthermore, he has collaborated with United Genders of the Universe, organising support and education for transgender persons in the Bay Area as well as anti-racist initiatives and campaigning for stronger worker rights.

Only the female band Fifth Column, from Canada, had a greater impact than Tribe 8. The name refers to a strategy deployed by Franco in the Spanish Civil War: the fascist fifth column operated inside republican Madrid, pretending to be by their side until attacking their troops with the element of surprise. Their first EP was launched in 1982, with the title “Boy/Girl – Monsieur Beauchamp”. Despite their hardcore affiliation, they also feature an arty facet: for example, their concerts include the showing of films, instruments relatively uncommon in rock such as saxophones, trumpets, flutes or violins, as well as a go-go dancer, Bruce LaBruce, who was himself one of those responsible for the boom of queer fanzines. Inspired by the International Situationist and by Guy Débord, the author of “The Society of Spectacle”, Fifth Column took an ironic stance and made recourse to cutting sarcasm as in “All Women Are Bitches”, from 1992.

The cineaste and fanzine editor G.B. Jones was one of the driving forces of the project alongside Caroline Azar. At the beginning of the 1980s, the existence of a band exclusively made up of women was still perceived with surprise despite the prior existence in punk of groups such as The Slits, The Raincoats and X-Ray Spex. And, naturally, the rumour swiftly spread that Fifth Column hated men. But no: they simply preferred women. Of course, the discourse of Jones went down a storm with the unpopular girls in high school: «When I was going through that, there in school were only stupid, ugly and talentless people who would grab at the only opportunity that they would ever get to convince someone to pay them some attention. Idiot girls that would become cheerleaders on their way to marrying, having children, mortgages, accounts, parents-in-law screaming at them, a job and then death. These were the best years in their lives and the worst in mine. We get many letters and phone calls from kids saying that, when they listen to us they feel good as they are not alone. I’m not saying that we raise the awareness of these adolescents because that would be pretentious, but it’s just as well there is somebody awake.»

Fifth Column strove to act as a collective resistance. «We resist the standards, the status quo, whatever is considered normal», specifies G.B. Jones. What proves curious is that this group emerges well before the rrriot girl wave and before Bikini Kill and the Indigo Girls. When there was still no feminist rock, when queer theory had still not taken root in universities, when there was still no perception that the gay movement was «assimilationist and bourgeois», there was already a queercore band. Hence, more than mere resistance, the Fifth Column were precursors. It was they, along with the zine J.D.s (J.D. as in Juvenile Delinquents, James Dean and J.D. Salinger), who created the scene. Everything else the scene created.

And in what way did they create that which came to happen? With the power arising from songs such as “The Fairview Mall Story”, an aggressive attack on justice and the media in the wake of a sad story of homophobia in the particularly difficult 1980s. 32 men were arrested for sexual acts in the bathrooms of a shopping mall in Canada, the Fairview Mall in St. Catharine’s and their names were leaked and published by the newspapers. One of them, married and with children, could not stand the scandal and committed suicide.

Other pioneers included Team Dresch with Donna Dresch, Jody Bleyle and Kaja Wilson, headquartered in Portland. The group’s gigs featured the particularity of including personal defence tactics sessions given by the instructor Alice Stagg, showing how to prevent attacks by rapists, jealous boyfriends and police officers suffering authority abuse syndrome. The collective launched in 1993 with the single “Hand Grenade” and then with the album “Personal Best”, even if they were not to see out the end of the decade. Nevertheless, they left behind an enormous influence on those who followed, which hardly comes as any surprise when knowing that Dresch had the very best of pedigrees in alternative American rock – previously playing with the legendary Dinosaur Jr. of J. Mascis.

One heir to all of the ground breaking work was undoubtedly Jane Danger, vocalist and guitarist of Three Dollar Bill, a name drawing on the American expression “queer as a three dollar bill”. This holding despite the Chicago band also including male musicians beginning with the other vocalist and guitarist, Chris Piss. Everything kicked off in the late 1990s and one of the group’s initial acts was to participate in the first Gay Shame, the 1998 alternative festival / march to Gay Pride that queer militants accuse of having sold out to political and economic interests, through taking receipt of financial support from companies interested in homosexual purchasing power and sponsored by city councils desiring to appear “progressive”.

As Jane states: «I always preferred hard rock and punk to any other type of music because they’re a very healthy and aggressive way of discharging energy and emotion. I even think that the rage of punk fits in with the emotions of the gay community and that it is a good way to connect with other men and our struggle for equal rights.» Furthermore, the song in the style of question-and-answer, “Parody of Pleasure” (2005), comes directly from a heterosexual punk group of the 1970s, the X.

While the homo-queer hardcore of Three Dollar Bill contains a melodic, almost pop side, the trans-queer hardcore of the New Yorkers Schmekel (“little penis” in Yiddish) displays a folk facet that also draws upon the importance of melody. This is a male quartet that were designated women at birth with the particularity of them all being Jews – the music follows the scales of the klezmer – and socialists, following principles of equality within the organisation of the band. The lyrics sung by Lucian Kahn would recall Frank Zappa intermixed with Mel Brooks and Groucho Marx were they not macho pigs. A good example is “Gay Shame”, which is partially reproduced below…

«You did what the HRC said you should / So gay yuppies and white old dudes / Can take over working class neighbourhoods / And buy organic groceries at Whole Foods. / Congratulations to the married men / And the runaway queers earing your hors devours. / I’m sure you invited them to the party / ‘Cuz we all know who “equality” serves. / GAY SHAME GAY SHAME GAY SHAME / GEH HEIM GEH HEIM GEH HEIM. / You say feminists are Delilah to your Samson / Busting your balls like a condom of lambskin. / Trans boy buddies, you say you’ve got a passel / But trans girls have elected you National Asshole. / You see me fully clothed and you’re scared of my man cunt / But there’s pictures of your nutsack on Grindr and Manhunt / Say you’re not sexist, just regular homo / If vaginas remind you of the whale that ate Jonah. / GAY SHAME GAY SHAME GAY SHAME / GEH HEIM GEH HEIM GEH HEIM. (…)»

Moving away from the punk core but still within its boundaries, there is also the Pariah Piranha of Andrea Shearer, a trio with two dykes and a hetero-queer who confesses an «incapacity to stick to any single tendency in rock», and the Gloryholes with their attraction to the “garage‘n’roll” sound and with a drummer answering to the name of Johnny Machine as well as a Holger Czukay with a waist rhythm moving to come-here-I’m-already-going. The latter boast of being the only queer band in Memphis, have an EP entitled “Like Us on Facebook” (2012) and a hilarious song about a transsexual who turns into a super-heroine, “Gloria Ho”.

The philosophy behind these hardcore practices is encapsulated in a text signed off by one E. Sebastian Snowflake, under the title “Decadence, My Frenemy”. «Decadence may be a marvellous weapon against the police that we have in our head. Anarchism and the spectre of the anarchist have always overshadowed the authoritarians of the right and the left that accuse them of being “decadent”. To them, we represent the corrupted, the uncontrollable, sex, violence, perversion, moral decay. We could not be happier with any of this.»

The writing, posted on the Net, purposefully seeks to gather together the combat by the queer currents represented by Stirner and Kropotkine: «Taking our lives as art, taking our tragedies to the stage, following our dreams of excess and pleasure as personal and social acts, we are recreating our very own selves. That is how we, queer decadent anarchists, struggle against oppression. We are decadent because our sexuality is not organised around reproduction, and inclusively the reproduction of identities and relationships of power that the racist and imperialist hetero-patriarch needs. In decadence, queer anarchism is simultaneously individualist and communist. We are destructive and creative. We are as if St. Sebastian, beautiful and martyrs at our own orgiastic deaths, brought down by the arrows that pierce our flesh.»

This black-and-red Snowflake further emphasises: «I aspire to a war movement capable of theorising the decadence of this horrible society and building places of pleasure that terrorise the dominant class with our ferocity and our humour. And how to ensure that revolutionary decadence does not get recovered by the system as happened to the LGBT front? We approach the collapse, rupture, perceiving how things only really become of interest when they are collapsing.»

This is, and continues to remain, the “core” of punk rebellion with the difference that it has lost the typically macho and misogynous tone of the original punk, replacing it with a pink punk. So much the worst, the better in a tactic of increasingly mirroring reality and exponentially raising chaos. Only in the context of a hecatomb are we able to organise pockets of liberty and equality, the first cells (wishful thinking) of a society built on foundations formed by free individuals and with multiple orientations in their means of interacting with each other. Not by chance, this proves the slogan hoisted by the duo Butch Vs Femme: Kimberli Aparicio and Chavez d’Augustine resolved to set to music their discussions on gender identity and the differences between butches (masculinised lesbians) and femmes (feminised lesbians). Their activities seemed to have come to a close in 2008 but they were back causing damage in 2014 because they think the campaign has yet to end. Is it really or is the revolutionary program of Snowflake but some fantastic delirium? Will the revolution not be swallowed by the black hole as with all of the rest? «There’s no future for us», as the song has already sung.