Disclosure

It was sunny and clear autumn day with slight chill in the air.

I was at the main square of Graz observing flock of pigeons in front of city council with nobody around me except of two men on ecstasy who just bought their supply and old drunkard stretching on bank in booze doze.
It was my birthday.

I had bank account sufficient to buy a pair of home slippers and a few tinkling coins in the pocket. I did not mind curves of fortune except of difficulty to know what to do next.

Perhaps it would be clever to buy a loaf of bread and reconsider invitation of Venus bar manager. He collected the girls in trouble for night work. I might appear in nightclub in role of salable puppet, one more in the army of town whores. As I was going out of age, there was no hope for profit. I could also try selling items of my wardrobe, like old fur overcoat and books, which probably nobody would buy.
To lose your spirits means to perish. I went on, but there was no change of tide. When I left my home for Austria some years ago, I played not innocent lotto, but Russian roulette.
The 26 euros I had now was not so little after all. It was enough to keep human being alive for a few weeks if cut loafs of bread in small pieces and enrich menu with garbage from junk cans downstairs.

It was also enough to enter Graz casino and to drink glass of champagne there.
It was traditional casino woman’s day and my birthday! Therefore, I could get additional free tokens to play. Who knows what destiny prepared there for me according with its incomprehensible schemes? Reality is secret order concealed from our eyes.
If I win much, I would leave town for good. If I win little, I would buy myself hearty meal. If I lose… Well, there is always Venus Bar and main bridge from where one can jump in the river with the skirt around the head and white buttocks exposed to spectators of Murradweg.
The moment I made up my mind, the bells of Franziskaner monastery rang, and flock of pigeons left the square. I came back to my lodgings and put on lace underwear, shoes and small black dress. However, eye shadows brush demonstrated disobedience to my shaking hands.
From the first glance, the interior of casino struck me as place of luxury and refinement.
The buzz of voices, carpeted floors, deep mahogany colors and aroma of expensive perfumes, all this added to the atmosphere of money currents flooding back and forth through the place and bringing here true core passions of society, longing for power, emanations of fear, boredom and greed.
There were women in eve outfits and men in elegant suits.
It seemed that majority of them could afford to lose. Some of gamblers nonchalantly played with 500 euros tokens piled in small colorful heaps in front of them at the green cloth of tables. Movement of big roulette wheel was hypnotizing and fascinating indeed.

Nobody could interfere with your chances to lose or to win. Impenetrable order of things manifested itself here - trough run of roulette ball and where it stopped dead as if controlled by invisible force.

(to be continued)

KPÖ: Geschenke an Glücksspielindustrie verschärfen Spielsucht-Problem
Graz (OTS) - Verwundert zeigt sich der Landtagsklub der steirischen KPÖ über die Aussagen von Staatssekretärin Kranzl, die Klubchef Kaltenegger vorwirft, lediglich für eine höhere Besteuerung der Spielautomaten einzutreten.
Die Dichte an Spielautomaten ist in der Steiermark österreichweit am höchsten. Das liegt auch daran, dass pro Automat und Monat 1.000 Euro weniger an Abgaben zu leisten sind als in der Bundeshauptstadt. Deshalb hat die KPÖ im Rahmen eines Paktes an Vorschlägen zur Bekämpfung der Spielsucht gefordert, die Abgaben auf Wiener Niveau anzuheben. Das würde die Zahl der Automaten reduzieren und dem Land gleichzeitig jährlich Mehreinnahmen in der Höhe von bis zu 60 Mio. Euro bringen.
Der Vorsitzende des Glücksspiel-Ausschusses im steirischen Landtag ist Wolfgang Kasic (ÖVP), der als Funktionär der Wirtschaftskammer Obmann der Spielautomatenbetreiber ist. “Wir verstehen, dass Staatssekretärin Kranzl sensibel auf Fragen des Kleinen Glücksspiels reagiert. Klubobmann Kaltenegger ist jederzeit zu einem Gespräch mit Frau Kranzl bereit”, betont Georg Fuchs, Pressesprecher des KPÖ-Landtagsklubs.

Technorati Tags: Graz, Spielsucht

Action in defense of same-gender partnership
It was rather hot morning, and I felt the gravity of my photo bag, walking by zigzags and asking every pedestrian where civil registry office is. I anticipated picturesque manifestation at the place, but found only small group there. As usual, I photographed persons whose faces I found to be interesting. This time it was woman in red jacket
Ulrike Lunacek

The Green party parliament representative and speaker for equalization movement of gays, lesbians and transsexuals
http://www.gruene.at/personen/ulrike_lunacek/

10.04.08 Aktion “Wir wollen da rein!” zur gleichgeschlechtlichen Partnerschaft
Die Debatte um gleichgeschlechtliche Partnerschaften wird immer absurder: In der ÖVP wird darum gestritten, ob das Standesamt der richtige Ort für die Eintragung von Partnerschaften ist, und die SPÖ sieht zu und schafft es nicht, ihre eigenen Wahlversprechen auch nur ansatzweise umzusetzen. Gleichgeschlechtliche Paare haben das Recht auf vollständige rechtliche Gleichstellung (inkl. Sozial-, Pensions- und Fremdenrecht) und wollen ihre Partnerschaft auf dem Standesamt besiegeln. Unter dem Motto “Wir wollen da rein!” zieht die Grüne NR-Abgeordnete Ulrike Lunacek gemeinsam mit dem Wiener LTAbg. Marco Schreuder und AktivistInnen der Grünen Andersrum sowie Organisationen der lesbischwulen Zivilgesellschaft vor das Standesamt am Wiener Schlesingerplatz, um für dieses Anliegen zu demonstrieren. Gleichzeitig ist dies der Start für die Postkarten- und Internet-Initiative “Wir dürfen hier nicht rein!”

TeilnehmerInnen:
- Ulrike Lunacek, Nationalratsabgeordnete der Grünen, Sprecherin für Gleichstellung von Lesben, Schwulen und TransGender

- Marco Schreuder, Landtagsabgeordneter der Grünen Wien - sowie weitere Mitglieder der vom Bundesministerium für Gesundheit, Familie und Jugend gemeinsam mit Vertreter/innen des Bundesministeriums für Justiz einberufenen Arbeitsgruppe “Gleichgeschlechtliche Partnerschaften”

Dear Mr. Gusenbauer!
Excuse me for breaking rules and sending you photo with a piece of nudity, but I do not see other way to attract your attention to the point.
I am freelance photographer and journalist, and once you posed for me and other photographers during election campaign in Graz in autumn of 2006. Unfortunately, there were poor light conditions, and since that time, I had no possibility to photograph you again.
Here are a few words about my personal history.
Originally from Kyrgyzstan, I got higher education and worked for many years as journalist for Russian press.

In 2001, I fell in love with Austrian man and moved to Graz, where I resided permanently. Our relation did not last long, but I continued to live in the country and considered Graz to be my hometown. It was hard time, as being not EU-citizen I struggled for survival in Austria between 2001-2007 without work permit.
This way I came to photography! Posing for painters and photographers, I tried to earn for my life.

But my wish to create images, be not only passive object, but individuality, was stronger, so feeling myself happy I started as street photographer in summer of 2006.
I have special passion for spontaneous portrait, feeling sincere interest to humans and manifestations of their characters in front of my lens.
Last year I moved to Vienna seeking ways to earn in event, portrait and street photography. As I wanted to depict our time with all its peculiarities, I started writing non-fiction book about life in Austria, which would include best street and portrait photos.
I would be glad to get any formal permit to attain press conferences and public events, where I could portray you, Mr.Gusenbauer, and also some artifacts of Austrian political reality.
Any assistance and advice is deeply appreciated.

Mit freundlichen Grüßen Galina Toktalieva

Galina as cleanlady

Do you remember feeling of being hurt?
When you are hurt, you see as if others act on evil free will.
In reality we all have very little of free will.

When analyzing your private history, that could be history of anybody else, you see you were often prisoner of circumstances, gripped by uncontrollable forces, and in natural flow of events you simply did what you were to do.

I already used to write about my life in “Bermuda triangle” of Graz.
Now and then descending from my mansard in the yard – with all these Bermuda cafes and restaurants around, I narrated my story to occasional companions.

Austrians seemed to be very sociable. Once it was talkative bold pensioner with bicycle. Other time - teacher of history who lived downstairs. Small gray-haired astrologer from opposite house volunteered on one occasion to pay for my coffee. All of them were eager to give valuable advice how to overcome extreme situation and survive.

People tend to support common point of view, and except of rare occasions their advice was the same genial idea of newspaper advertisements and cleaning jobs.
From time of my Soviet youth I entertained idea that cleaning as job signalized about embryonic creativity or registered affairs with psychiatry and police.

However, it was the center of Europe, and people around had other opinions on the subject. Nobody of them tried cleaning as profession, but common idea was that foreign woman without special proficiencies was fit for job.

I only wondered how to find employee who would pay for my 25-hours per week of scabbing, if I wanted to make ends meet?

One of my first cleaning experiences was serving in Kebab restaurant in Jakoministrasse.
The owner – dark, short and stout Kurd, who promised to pay 8 euros per hour for assistance, greeted me gravely in the morning.
I saw him in Volkshaus among friends of KPÖ and felt myself defended by ethic of the group. I even made expenses and bought for last 15 euros white blouse, which he told was absolutely necessary for position.

Though hall of restaurant with 10 tables covered by red cloths looked quite decent, the tiny kitchen with broken ventilation system was amazingly dirty. Thick layer of dust and grease covered shelves, oven and walls, two Kurdish men in oily t-shirts were busy around sink full of dark fatty water.

The owner enjoyed bossing others around and demonstrated gloomy ignore and irritability.

In addition, when serving for customers I experienced palette of conflicting and painful feelings.
One thing was to visit restaurant with well-off friend and anticipate nice meal.
Another thing was to stay in the corner like piece of furniture waiting for costumer’s orders.
People treated you then as if were dumb machine or empty space, also because they kept tips in mind.
It was the sort of mortification one needed natural disposition to be accustomed to.
In the end of the day I felt deathly tired : we all worked without break.
It seemed normal that owner did not offer to his workers even a glass of water in midday, though meal was a part of oral agreement.
Next day I was busy with pans and in that very dark greasy water which scared me my gloveless hands soaked.
Repeatedly, I looked at the clock above my head, but arrows did not move- I was in one of dead loops of time.
About 11 o’clock, the last customer left.
I came out of the kitchen on limping feet.
Owner stood with his back to me, counting change.
Then he told I did not need to come next day, because I had not passed through
test.
I felt so exhausted that did not ask for two days wages he did not want to pay. I turned over and left.

Graz lay in front of me. Night air was velvety and warm.
I walked along Herrengasse and looking at the sky felt myself newly born.
It was so exciting to realize I was penniless and…free.

(to be continued)

(Photo: unrecognized suicide attempt at U3 underground line at 12.15, man with long blond hair jumped down at railways, but changed his mind to die and started to cry; when being pulled back at platform by two passengers, he imitated being sick, dizzy and that he fell down by chance)

Life can be hard, but it gives miraculous presents sometimes.

Once during my extreme conditions survival in Graz I wrote petition to Bundesministerium für Arbeit without particular hope to get reply, as many of my appeals stayed unanswered before.

However, some months later thick letter with blue stamp of ministry arrived, and using it as flag during my next visit to immigration bureau, I unexpectedly reached wonderful results: that very middle-aged lady in Landesregierung, who for a few years aroused deep fear in my soul, unwillingly issued normal time-long visa with access to work market for me.

I literally trembled as a leaf when was to see her before. She demonstrated signs of satisfaction with her unnatural powers over pleading emigrants and always made me to believe there was no escape.

Probably local regulation system she represented wanted to avoid possible complications with upper system representatives. Bureaucratic machine cracked and big wheel of destiny moved forward in my favor.

My euphoric moods brought me immediately to Graz AMS (Job office)
I slept little at night wandering in imaginary gardens of joy. Life suddenly started to look harmonious and purposeful.

It was rather warm spring day, and sticky reception hall occurred to be full of people.
They smelled as untidy cloths, alcohol steams and mood disorder. The turn was going on slowly, and current number on the screen that I could not clearly see and was afraid to miss made me nervous.

At last, I found myself in front of clerk, who was completely absorbed with papers. I passed him my new lovingly looking identification card with pink Austrian eagle and expected manifestation of new miracles.

During process of interrogation clerk never glanced at me, as if trying to spare himself from sight of next bore, only when I retorted I wanted to find any work connected with photography, he lifted his translucent green eyes at me, being obviously amused.

During my next visits, I reached upper floors of building, and discovered that long white corridors of AMS with dark blue quadrates of doors and metallic luminosity of ventilation tubes made me feeling uneasy.

The bag hooks in public WC cabins were removed giving idea that personal of office could well predict reaction of some unemployed to news they could get here.

There were a few computers and internet at the ground floor, and studying faces of people around me, who preferred to look at bare walls instead, I concluded they hardly connected reduction of their life opportunities with their own lack of literacy and initiation, believing that being jobless was only evil fate.

Sensing emanations of hopelessness they produced I recollected words of well-known motivation author Wayne Dyer who was born to poor family but became rich, that poverty is first of all beliefs system.

I could add to the wisdom of motivation father that it was easier to change the form of your own nose sometimes than patterns of your habitual thinking.

With my first old Nikon hidden under the jacket that made me look at least 6 month pregnant

I crept in one of multistoried houses (Laufhäuse) where prostitutes rented working rooms.

Though houses looked shabby outside, wooden panels, leather arm chairs and thick carpets preserved air of pomposity inside.

Every girl had big poster with nickname, close-up photo and short service description on the door of her cabin. Visitors were to make up their minds looking at these pictures.

Pretending to be absorbed by process, I kept eye on the men who appeared in the hall, and could unmistakably judge they were already aroused.

Some of them looked red in face and walked clumsily along the corridor as if “salami” in trousers suddenly changed its dimensions.

They were excited by very idea of visiting taboo place and by lewd images of their own imagination. Also promise of pleasure in its porno-illustrative form drive them temporary insane.

Like in any other profession, the crucial point in prostitution was specialization and uniqueness of woman services at the market.

If you earn 10-12 times more of what one could get for cleaning, baby-sitting and teaching jobs, you sell not only sex, but special types of sex – which one can hardly get free of charge.

Good if client would only cry out: “I want to eat your pussy!” or “Pee on me and sit on my face with your cunt!”

More often it could be other way round. Plus strangulations, breath and anal orifices penetration, beating, bandaging and what not.

I saw sad irony in fact that at least two brothels were situated in close neighborhood of Volkshaus (folks house), where advanced humanists from KPÖ talked day and night about their achievements in elimination of poverty and discrimination in Steiermark.

Touchingly looking young lads with red stars at their shirts overwhelmed by idea of capitalist injustice – circulated solemnly in Volkshaus.

I would advise them to start building communism within their own soul at first. Soon they would see futility of all efforts. And pass to other forms of idealism.

Coming back to prostitutes, I say I could hardly photograph them.

Not only because supervisor of the house was always on the duty, and every cabin had alarm device, but also because publicity would be very harmful for these women. They had police registration and compulsory medical check.

This fact of registration scared many foreign women in trouble away and forced them to start business on their own risk – being open to all forms of abuse.

I scrutinized somnambular faces of men seeking instant consolation in brothel and thought how they would behave being not controlled by rules,

when woman who wanted to earn for life by selling her genitals would be completely at their mercy?

Fatal defect of manhood was to identify woman with her body parts- making of her the cunt personification. Mechanism of such thinking was simple: woman shows ME her tits and opens for ME her legs, therefore woman wants ME.

Men seemed to be sufferers of their own gender. But they were ready to pay for sexual release- which brought them temporary relief - only because they were forced to.

Sometimes there were two of them, who wanted to split the bill climbing the woman one after the other.

My investigations helped me to realize I was too subtle a person for meat trade practices.

Illusive profits and even illusive physical self-preservation – could not surpass deep harmful influence of this activity.

For many women who started selling themselves in conditions of poverty and deprivation,

but continued when situation changed, it was emotional dependency and self-destruction, which they often enjoyed how others enjoy excessive alcoholism and drug using.

They were saved. They did not starve more and could buy new cloths. They could buy many things they were dreaming of.

But in exchange for losing themselves.

And what can be more valuable in this world than preserving your true self?

(to be continued)

Most probable, men of power never pay visits to local brothels, where they can be spied out.

If somebody appeared at least once on the screen of TV, it was risky for him to break with the air of lewd innocence in whorehouses or visit corrupted pussy at home when he could be recognized.

I guess discriminative law making is connected with chronically sick libido.

Gentlemen in nice suits circulating in city hall and parliament are victims of their own public images and unsatisfied wishes.

They strive for demonstration of self-importance erected on cramped libido of unhappy marriages. They could only dream possessing prostitutes - their body and soul. But grip of passion for political power was equally strong, and it made the choice.

I always felt myself investigative and curious about prostitutes, these enigmatic night butterflies, queens of seduction and throat tripper. Do they separate themselves from their bodies when giving blow job or offering orifices to next drunk man with bear belly and dim eyes of ill animal? I used all small tricks available to milk my occasional acquaintances for information about hot places in town.

I wanted also to test myself.

Living in Graz without income and without prospect to get work permit, sometimes hungry and mentally unwell, I often vibrated between wish to end my life and hope to find at least temporary source of survival.
Can I possibly earn something in nightspot as other foreign women do?

Why I must give up struggle and die in my small flat under the roof when life still fascinates me?

Sometimes meeting people who talked contemptuously of money I though they were fools. Or they had never been in state of real poverty. It was not starvation that scared, when you could not buy cake you saw in bakery window, the worst was paralyzing misery, fear and humiliation which literally burned out your guts from inside .

It was not enough to know that having Graz AMS in mind (job office), you would quickly find yourself employed by biggest whorehouse situated exactly opposite. The army of Graz prostitutes was represented also by semi-professionals who never appeared in vicinities of brothels, but who traded their services through newspaper and internet love ads. They could be ordinary students, waitresses, lonely mothers and sales-girls, offering home services without any medical check unless met with too visible consequences of promiscuity.

(to be continued)

Our attachments is the source of our problems. You are attached when you think your life would be impossible without what you are crazy about.
Ten years ago, I was standing in the long line behind the doors of British embassy in Moscow with supreme trepidation and wish to see London where I had never been. My attachment was Anglo mania and sincere belief in superiority of universe with epithet “British” over universe with epithet “Russian” including advantages of English breakfast tea over Russian tea.
I was accompanied by middle-aged gentleman - my pen-fiend from Eastbourne, who entertained ideas about Russian women approachability and hoped to bring me to UK, he was bold and shaking - not because of anxiety, but because of being ruined by diabetes and two heart transplant operations he had come through.
I had not passed embassy interview, because could not give direct answer to the question of stern looking English woman separated from me by glass as in prison or zoo, how many times I executed sexual acts with my English friend. I flushed painfully, and in this fire, my Anglo mania was burned. I destroyed books of my favorite English authors and threw pages down from balcony at the heads of Muscovites.
My second strongest attachment was Graz. I fell in love with this town in summer of 2001, when being ready to immigrate to Sweden, suddenly got invitation from one quite decent St.Peter engineer.
To love somebody means to recognize in him (her) yourself. The specific atmosphere of Graz, nuances of light reminded me of place were I was born. The breath of town, its provincial charm and coziness of its street cafes made my heart ache. I found myself to be fond of local prime articles such as pumpkin oil, elegant park lamps and national trousers, which accentuated intimate outlines of native men torsos.
But light always transits in shadow. In spite of political triumph of KPÖ (the red) in 2003 in region, general official attitude toward foreigners stayed conservative. Even within circle of KPÖ supporters - mostly ordinary uneducated people - one could easily sense disapproval of those speaking other language. They saw in foreigners intruders who arrived in Stieremark to consume goodies.
No work, no right to work and no single euro of social benefits. After every pleading visit to Immigration office (Landesregierung) and Social help office (Sozialamt) I was ill and laying in mansard was rereading Adolf Hitler autobiography.
One fact puzzled me. Graz was known as town of numerous nightclubs and brothels.
It seemed those who were responsible for local regulations and laws kept in mind quantity and disposition of places where foreign women in need could find temporary financial consolation. May be they kept in mind those places simply because they paid occasional visits there?
(To be continued)

It was nice sunny day - with expectation of happiness in the air. Antifascist demonstration started at Morzinplatz, at 15 o’clock. Small gallery presented here is only what I managed to process today. Unfortunately could not accomplish all. Perhaps as in every other activity professional future of photographer depends mostly on his industriousness and patience. They say infinite patience gives immediate results