Martin Bladh and Bo I. Cavefors
Action: Johan Adolphi, Martin Bladh, Bo I. Cavefors and Mikael Oretoft
Photo: Peter Andersson and Lars Bosma
Music: Martin Bladh and Erik Jarl

Produced 12th June 2009 in Norrköping, Sweden
Published as a dvd together with QUALIS ARTIFEX PEREO (Aryan Kaganof) 2009-2010

Copyright©Martin Bladh & Bo I. Cavefors 2009-2010
Copyright Photo©Peter Andersson & Lars Bosma 2010



Martin Bladh & Bo I. Cavefors

Medverkande: Bo, Martin, Johan, Mikael

Ett kvadratiskt eller rektangulärt rum.

Mot väggen projiceras Martin Bladhs videoverk Injury, 21 min, tre delar. Handlingen kretsar kring sexuellt utnyttjade pojkar som i vuxen ålder blivit förövare (actionmotiv: offer/förövare). Filmen har en mycket påträngande stroboskopeffekt, som höjer aktionens intensitet ytterliggare. Endast filmens malande monotona monologer är hörbara (en förvriden androgyn röst). Filmen spelas upp två gånger under aktionen. Aktörernas agerande följer filmens monologer.

Framför väggen sitter Martin naken (endast iförd en suspensoar med intorkade blodfläckar) på en regissörsstol, armar och ben sammanbundna på ryggen. Repet binder även samman Martin med stolen. Repet slås även runt Martins kuk. Blicken fäst vid golvet. Martins hud har pudrats med talkpuder (rent offer/Apollo). Skamsen. Men sneglar under actionens gång på Bos och Johans ageranden.

På golvet framför stolen (rummets mitt) ligger Bo, naken i korsformation. Svart huva över huvudet. Vid hans fötter på en vit trasa med intorkade blodfläckar, ett grishjärta inlindat i bandage, ett rakblad, en livrem, och ett litet metallfat med tändstickor och cigaretter. På vänster respektive höger sida om honom ett njurformat metallfat fyllt med människohår. På golvet ovanför Bos huvud (mellan Martin och Bo) står en tredje metallskål, även den fylld med människohår.

Mikael, naken förutom ett bälte med en bajonett och blå plasthandskar, huden har pudrats med vitt talkpuder - ren bödel/Apollo). Mikael står med ansiktet vänt mot rummets vänstra vägg, händerna på ryggen.

Bo och Johan har före föreställningen rullat sig i grus, kol eller liknande (Dionysos), så att de är smutsiga, otvättade.

Johan, naken, står vid den högra väggen (mitt emot Mikael), runkar, smeker sig.

Publiken står utmed rummets tre väggar, dvs Mikael och Johan står tillsammans/mitt bland publiken.

Efter ca 10 min drar Mikael av Bo huvan och håller sedan huvan i handen. Samtidigt börjar Bo att onanera, liggandes, använder kroppsoljan, smetar in sig, fokus: anus och kuk. Samtidigt onanerar Johan, tänder en cigarett, röker njutningsfullt och tittar på Bo.

Mikael tänder på innehållet i skål 1.

Bo reser sig efter 22 min (filmen har tagit slut och börjar om från början). Mikael går bort till Martin på stolen och drar huvan över hans huvud (motiv: offer-identifikation med bödel). Martin blottar strupen (motiv: offer-identifikation med bödel).

Mikael tänder innehållet i skål 2, och går sedan tillbaka till sin utgångspunkt vid den vänstra väggen.

Johan och Bo smeker och kysser varandra över hela kropparna. Runkar varandra, suger varandra, osv. Johan fimpar aska på Bo. Johan släcker sin cigarett på Martins rygg. Återvänder till Bo och agerar sexuellt häftigare än tidigare.

Mikael tänder på håret i skål 3.

Johans och Bos sexuella aktiviteter blir livligare, hårdare. De piskar varandra med livremmen, sadistisk lek. Bo går fram till Martin och ger honom fem hårda rapp med livremmen. Bo slänger livremmen på golvet. Johans och Bos sexuella lekar blir aggressivare, de brottas (Bacons/Muybridge brottare), de smörjer in varandra med olja. Johan knullar Bo, båda ejakulerar. Samtidigt går Mikael fram till Martin och skär ett djupt snitt i hans högra sida med rakbladet. Mikael skär sönder suspensoaren, river den i bitar, slänger delarna på golvet. Suger in blodet i munnen, spottar ut det på Martins kuk, smetar in det med handen. Mikael reser sig, skär loss Martin från stolen. Bo och Johan ligger kvar, utmattade, kysser varandra.

Filmen slut, Martin sitter kvar i stolen - strupen blottad. Mikael avlägsnar bandaget runt grishjärtat, håller upp det i högerhand, drar upp bajonetten, ställer sig i korsformation. .

Bo och Johan ligger kvar - omslingrade på golvet.

Hjärtat brinner.

Projektion: 5 minuterAcéphale-mannen (André Masoon).

Musik: utdragen orgelton.

Copyright©Martin Bladh och Bo I. Cavefors, 2008, 2009.



Appendix: INJURY
In spite of everything I was smiling when I was little. I can tell from photos. But inside I felt bad . It’s like I had two personalities. On the outside I was a good little boy, steady, good at school . Inside, I felt different from the others. I was apprehensive.

I was often in tears because of the fights at home. My mother used to say that boys don’t cry. To punish me she would stand me in front of the mirror, while she humiliated me in front of my brothers and sisters, she would say: “Look at that cry baby, see how you look! You’re not even a man, you’re nothing but a scared cat…” There was no tenderness or love in our house. Not for me anyway. My mother was sounding off all the time. I never could do anything right as far as she was concerned.

One day we had visitors at home, I had to sleep on the sofa in the living-room and let someone else have my bed. That’s when it all began. I was sleeping on my stomach, in my underwear. Half asleep, I felt someone come up behind me, pull down my shorts, and penetrate my rectum. I was so afraid that i didn’t dare to turn over. I could hear his heavy breathing, feel his breath, but I couldn’t see him. I believe it was my father because I knew how he smelled, how big he was. I had no idea what to do, what to say. I hurt all over. I was bleeding from the rectum. The next day I stayed in bed, I couldn’t stop bawling. For a long time after that, whenever I got nervous, I would mess in my pants. Maybe it was a physical problem because of the dilated rectum, perhaps it was psychological. I don’t know, but I had the problem for years.

What my brothers asked me to do was disgusting. I don’t know where on earth they got such ideas. One of them urinated in my face. Another time he shat on me. He was laughing, he found it amusing. I was crying and I ran away from them. A bit later my oldest sister asked me to have sex with her. She was laughing at me because I still didn’t have erections. She said I had a small penis. It felt ill at ease. I find it hard being humiliated.

For a few years, I admit, I didn’t question what was going on, but when I was about twelve or thirteen I often thought about what was happening and wondered about it. I compared myself to others and realised I wasn’t normal. When I might have wanted to talk about it, I figured that nobody else talks about anything, so why should I?

Around the age of eleven, I started hitch-hiking on the big highway. I was looking for attention, for affection. Anybody would do. Sometimes cars would stop an pick me up. I didn’t dare to say no when they asked me to fellate them. First, they would touch me, checking me out to see how I would react. When they could see that I appeared to be okay with the idea, that I wouldn’t make a fuss, they would pull over and stop further on. They would do what had to be done in the woods or in a field.

I don’t want to be with anyone, man or woman, who would want sex with me, when someone seems to be interested in me, I imagine it’s just for sex. I would like to meet someone, but I can’t get away from the idea of abuse, the fear of sexuality. I am not used to receiving pleasurable caresses. I fell bad when someone touches me. A person who touches me disgusts me. And sperm, even my own, I find disgusting. I don’t like kissing on the mouth either.

I don’t like my body. Maybe it’s because I haven’t appreciated the sexual relationships I’ve had. I’d like to have a different body, a complete makeover so I can say I’m starting my life over from zero.

I would have liked to have a girl interested in me, but I didn’t attract girls. I must admit I wasn’t comfortable too with myself. I was full of complexes, fears, and sensitivities. My brothers were making fun of me because I still wasn’t ejaculating at the age of eleven. I was wondering how to go about getting involved with girls.

Men, they’re always ready for sex, and afterwards it’s like “Don’t know him, never seen him”. If I went about it the same way with a girl as I do with men, she’d think I was a sex maniac. My favourite trick is to wait in the park or in a public toilet until a man comes in. Then, if he hangs around, it he’s looking at me… there are lots of ways to tell if he’s interested… and since I’m quite good looking…

What excites me is a sense of danger. I get a thrill out of it. Actually, men probably excite me less than the context in which things are happening. Getting it on with a guy, undisturbed, in a bedroom, with a little background music playing, that’s okay for homosexuals. But that doesn’t interest me. What I want is the risk, the fear of being found out, being surprised.

I like to masturbate. Like to play the exhibitionist, too. I’ve done that since I was a teenager, I’ve been arrested by the police for it. It always happens in a special context. When I’m drunk, on drugs, something inside me wakes up. I stand outside a house, in the garden , in front of peoples windows and show myself off. Then I masturbate, sometimes even ejaculate in front of them. It’s always women, just women. In the beginning I used to leave the windows and curtains open at home and parade about in the nude. I liked the turn-on. Then i went out to do it. I found that even more exciting.

I put on a tough front. People think I’m hard but I’m just acting a role, like in a drama. I identify to great extent with Jim Morrison of the Doors. I would love to write music and write like him. The essential is that I will have to be myself. But it’s though I no longer have an identity, that I’ll have to glue on one, so to speak. I do have a made-up identity, but it’s only a role I play.

Ideally, I would like to find myself on my own in a place where everything is beautiful and pure, where everything that happens is agreed upon. There at least I could be with someone without risk. I am bisexual, perhaps, but I don’t want sex.

A homosexual picked me up and took me in. After a few days, he asked me to have sex with him. I didn’t say no. Having sex had become a habit for me. I no longer even asked myself if I preferred males or females. I don’t consider myself a homosexual: in my fantasy life I prefer women and children.

I must admit I’ve had fantasies about younger boys also. At a certain point I had a dream: I was abusing a young fellow the way I was abused. That’s really not my thing. I reacted badly. It was as though I’d been hit on the head with a sledgehammer. I thought of killing myself. I cut my veins. But I stopped in time. This went on for about eight or nine months. I said to myself: If I’m capable of doing it in a dream I could do it awake. But I don’t want to be involved with young boys. I’m in therapy for that. I try not to think of the past. It’s like putting on a suit of armour. I’ve had other similar dreams recently, with girls in the dreams too. I wake up and feel excited. But now, instead of panicking, I try to make connections. I ask myself what happened the day before to make me think of that. I keep a journal to help me understand, to make connections between it all.

When I had homosexual fantasies I couldn’t control, I had the idea of hiring a male prostitute. At night, I would cruise the streets where they hang out. A prostitute was abetter solution, less distressing for me. The prostitute was okay with it and after, for me it was out of sight, out of mind. I wasn’t accountable to anybody.

To me they’re all sluts, like my mother. When I make love, you know, I’m a very gentle fellow. With certain women some vengeance will surface, but not with all. Most of the women I made love with were not aware of what was going on inside me.

As an adolescent, began to cut me myself, to carve into my arm because I was mad at myself. I wasn’t unable to express my violence except against myself. I had other problems. I had begun to masturbate more or less anywhere, openly, in the classroom, on the bus. It was like an experiment for me. I was putting objects into my rectum too. That way, I wasn’t hurting anyone else. I find it difficult to accept my sexuality.

The first time a masturbated on a child was when I was babysitting the daughter of one of my brothers. She must have been about two or three. I took off her diaper and rubbed my penis against her private parts. I didn’t want to penetrate her, just to feel her next to me. I did it again a few more times before I began to be afraid of what I might do. I stopped. I realised I wasn’t normal. To put it out of my mind I used to drink. I was taking pills, taking drugs. Perhaps it was the softness of the baby that attracted me to her. Still today, with women, I never feel completely satisfied sexually. It is children who excite me the most, although I don’t want to touch them, anymore.

I have violent thoughts about buying weapons and getting some revenge. I know there’s something missing, something dead inside me that I’ll never get back. I rail against this. But you know, when I was little, I was a romantic… wrote poetry for my friends’ girlfriends. I would have turned out quite different if these things hadn’t happened to me.

Copyright©Martin Bladh&Bo I. Cavefors, 2008.