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Fear and loathing on the French Riviera ft. Eloi

Text and Photography by Parisonline


10:09 Wednesday 20th of JulyAn unknown woman shakes us awake. Me, still dressed in shirt and tie, and my partner in crime Julia, reeking of alcohol from the night before. This is not a twisted one-night-stand story, the woman’s name is Jessica and she had let us in at 4am in the morning when we found ourselves locked out on the streets after a night of chaos. Still hazy, I looked around the room and let the memories fall into place one after the other.

The day before, we had arrived at the biggest festival in Switzerland to conduct interviews, the first stop on our journalistic pilgrimage towards the glorious French Riviera. On the hunt for the perfect story, we had been roaming the festival area. Filling our bags with beer backstage before crossing paths with the French rockstar/queer cowboy ELOI.

10:22 Wednesday 20th of July. The fog of my memories suddently lifted with the sound of foul swearing coming from my companion. We gathered up our hats and cameras and stumbled out of Jessica's apartment. Julia lit a cigarette in the parking lot, the heat was strangely pressing and she looked at me with piercing eyes. We both knew that this trip had become a race of endurance. To write about the journey in any conventional press sense was absurd. But we are, after all, professional journalists; so we had to find story, for good or ill.

15:47 Wednesday 20th of July. Note: Men at festivals dressing like flowers or not at all. All saying they look to feel comfortable and free. A meadow of men, sprung out in full bloom.

20:23 Wednesday 20 of July. We spent the rest of that night rounding up material and packing our bags. Our trip was different. It was to be a gateway into our second issue and an affirmation of everything right and true about this world. But, only for those with true grit.

In total control. Two good boys hitting the road to go south in a bright green Flixbus. Stoned, ripped, twisted, good people.



15:21 Thursday 22 of July. Many hours later we arrived on the French Riviera. The glory days of the Yacht Club hotel where we would spend the night were clearly over. Already in despair of the situation, we listened back to our material from the festival and realized it was all terrible gibberish. Madness. It made no sense at all. See for yourself, just press play.

10:23 Friday 22 of July. It was time to get grounded. To ponder this rotten assignment and figure out how to cope with it. It was time to do the job. Both of us had been up all night, we were in no mood for coffee and donuts. We wanted strong drinks. Sipping on my Blue Lagoon I couldn't help but ask myself: What were we doing? What was the meaning of this trip? Were we just roaming around in an alcohol frenzy of some kind? Or had we come to the French Riviera to write a story?

T: I hate to say this but this place is getting to me. I think I’m getting the fear.

J: Nonsense. We came to the French Riviera to write a story and now that we're right in the vortex you want to quit? You must realize man, we've hit the main nerve.

T: That's what gives me the fear.

22:41 Friday 22 of July. Here we were. No cash, no story for the magazine, left to rot on the French Riviera. Wandering aimlessly along the highway there was every reason to believe that we had been pushing our luck too far, when a sign presented itself in the dark sky. “Magic world” a flourescent mirage merging from the pitch black.

10:23 Friday 22 of July. This place was madness in all directions, at any hour, it could strike sparks everywhere.

I followed Julia as she moved through the arcade games and continued towards the white sign on the hill. A sense that what we were doing was right. This was our future, the place of rebirth. Watching the silhouette of her back disappear into the wilderness I thought to myself: there she goes, one of God's own prototypes. A high power mutant never considered for mass production. Too weird to live, too rare to die.

This was not the end of our story, this was the very start of it. Below follows the second issue of Parisonline, the perfect trip, through space and time. Buy the ticket. Take the ride.

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eloi paléo festival 2023 nyon
eloi paléo festival 2023 nyon
eloi paléo festival 2023 nyon
eloi paléo festival 2023 nyon
eloi paléo festival 2023 nyon
paléo festival 2023 nyon
eloi paléo festival 2023 nyon

[Photo by Jessica]

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Adey on nudes and love letters

Text by Tova Olsson, Photography by Adey and Luka Perkins Petit

I’m meeting the person who two days earlier asked me to take my clothes off and crawl on the white limestone cliffs of Marseille. It’s nothing unusual to the British photographer Adey, who considers clothes to be fake and has dedicated their work to portray the weird creatures hiding underneath. Having flaunted everything but their face around the world's most prestigious galleries, the anonymous artist has now arrived on the south coast of France to write a love letter and drink rosé.

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[Luka Perkins Petit]

So, you’ve seen me naked... Do you think that changes how we interact now?

“No, not for me. But I’ve seen a lot of people naked. So I don’t know... Now that you bring it up I get the image of you naked in my head, which is quite funny. Maybe it makes us more connected?”

Yeah, there is really nothing to hide haha.

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[Luka Perkins Petit]

Adey has been looking to peel off the uncomfortable layers of life for the last 15 years, when they left London and a career of dance behind and moved to Sweden. “I was fed up with the fast life, tired of living my life to zero every month. I worked my ass off and didn’t feel appreciated.“

In search of simplicity they started drawing stick figures, using an analogue camera and portraying naked bodies to create what they describe as images of utopia. People playing around in abandoned buildings or deep forests without a care in the world, perky buttcheeks juxtaposed with gray concrete. Photos that strike me more as cute images of what the end of the world could look like rather than of paradise. Reading from the hype for Adey, people seem to be longing for the innocentification of the world that their photos offer: playful images of a dystopian future and the naked body itself. The latter – in popular culture, so often offered to a consumer in a dark context of “sex sells” – is through Adey’s lense set free to play.



Looking at your previous photos I sometimes think of Pina Bausch, maybe because of how the industrial meets the tender and romantic...

Is that something you see in your photos?

“Yeah I do see it. It’s not a conscious integration but when I was young and studying physical theater we went to a Pina Bausch show and I remember that my mind exploded. It was the best thing ever.” To Adey, the industrial emptiness also speaks of their personal experience of living in Scandinavia. “I do feel lonely in Sweden and I think that’s translated into my work. I don’t want to go into it too much but I’ve definitely been through times of depression in Sweden. Luckily, people have always managed to pull me out. They know I find the fun in the world around me, no matter what.”

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[Luka Perkins Petit]

To Adey, movement itself is an energetic form of love, running through every part of their life. As a way of reconnecting with that source, Adey is looking to break with the passive position of the photographer. “I’ve staged my photos to the point where I’ve become static, because of the way I was shooting and the equipment I was using. Now I want to move!” In recognising movement as their very fundament, Adey’s new project is telling the story of their personal journey, inviting their parents as models: “My new series is in some ways a love letter to dance. Knowing my parents kind of enabled that I think that they should be a part of the series. But, they are divorced so I’ll see if they’ll agree to participate haha...”

As even time is moving forward, Adey themselves became a parent last year: “I feel like it’s impossible to put into words what it’s like having a child before you experience it. Sitting there watching this young person discover movement is magical. Watching that everyday... Sometimes it happens secondly.”

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As we are about to wrap up the interview Adey whips out their phone to show me a photo. “I drew this for a couple...Knowing it's not really possible. It's someone just straight up sitting on somebody's head. And then...” They swipe to the following photo. “It happened!" Adey laughs and shakes their head: “We’re such funny creatures, we’re really weird... Like what the hell is going on and why we’re still here.”


Funeral of a prince

Text, Film and Photography by Scilla Rajalin

I am a multidisciplinary artist from Sweden, based in London. With my background in dance, choreography and composition, I am currently developing my work as a director, focusing on documentary and live performance. My current research questions where documentary methods meet live performance. To me, this means engaging with people and subjects in an informative, archiving matter, with a neutral and/or investigative agenda. This includes recognition of the instinctive, imaginative and ambiguous aspects of improvisation, art and live performance. My practice stems from local collaboration with visual artists and sound artists, working between fields of movement, physical theatre, film and creative writing. Re-occurring themes in my work include satire, nonsense, unreliable realities and systematic cycles of routines and patterns.

I am currently writing a script in preparation for my next live work, titled ́Funeral of a Prince ́. This work is a queer,

pseudo-realistic, live documentary of a de-gendered non-royal prince and his journey towards becoming (and surviving as) a director. [...]

The work explores notions of time - and our non-linear perception of it - as well as structural patterns and habits

(both primal and social) and what we do to dismantle them.

I am interested in the psychology of characters and what happens dramaturgically when we merge the identities and perceptions of them. The script is about one person as well as many. It's a mix of autobiographical experience, imagination and full blown phsycadelic fantasy - It balances between realism and fiction as we follow the character(s) through life, from birth to potential death. The prince transcends gender and time, pronouns and expectations - a modern Orlando if you wish.

My time in Marseille was essential to the project as I spent the residency finalizing the script and editing visual footage, making a short trailer in representation of the work. The prince’s experience of the city was full of surprises, food and adventure; and I got to follow him closely through it, collecting data, knowledge and references to who or what he actually is.

To see more of Scilla’s work, and read the full story of the prince, head over to their website at


The story of the prince is brief; it fits in 11 short chapters and 3 slightly longer. It’s not the kind of story to be cut open, torn apart and divided; it’s a body, a meal, and it is to be experienced in its entirety – all according to the prince. He made me sit down and read the whole thing in one go, it was quite the effort... He says it’s not finished, he says it’s too long to publish and too important not to. I find him greedy and pretentious, and stole some notes from his diary while he was away “on some business” ... He would kill me if he knew you had them.


At night, tracking the streets of his new city and the patterns of people, the prince stumbles upon a church. There is a service happening. He goes there of course. The people are singing as he walks in, he doesn’t understand the lyrics, but it sounds beautiful. He sits down at the back, that way he doesn't disturb anyone with his late arrival. Plus, he can see the whole church from here. The church walls with their grand paintings, the colored glass windows and the gold painted pillars. And all the people; Some sitting, some standing up, a few of them kneeling. He is very moved by it all. The prince receives communion, it feels unfamiliar, but he remembers. The prince prays, it feels unfamiliar, but he remembers...

The prince buys a pizza Calzone. He has grand plans for it but all it does is give him a stomachache; you can’t have it all. He’s all alone in the outdoor seating of the restaurant, it feels very...loud. Too aware of his posture, he does his best to look cool. Fine by himself. A long line of people is queuing up next to the restaurant; there’s something happening further up the street. People look at him, but he’s used to it, used to eating alone, used to the awkwardness. The restaurant apparently doesn't have any paper menus, so when he asks about the food the waiter brings out the whole chalkboard and puts it on a bar stool right in front of the prince. It’s huge. The prince is embarrassed, but he’s used to that too. The door next to the restaurant is open, there’s a dance class going on inside. Some kind of two-person-dance, it’s quite wild. They swing violently to high tempo folk music. Fun thinks the prince. The prince used to dance as well, it feels unfamiliar, but he remembers, swaying gently in his chair. Dance might be the most important thing of all. It might also be something else.

Do you have to smoke in France? The prince wonders. His throat hurt from just half a cigarette, what a wimp... but it seems mandatory here, and it looks cool, so he continues holding it casually between two fingers. He’s been invited to a party by a cool guy from London, with lots of tattoos and a very chic mustache. He goes there of course. The party ends up being more of a casual dinner and it’s the best time he’s had all week. They laugh and talk and drink lots of wine. The prince feels immediately at home. The cool guy from London asks to read the prince’s future, he has cool tarot-cards, probably from London. The prince accepts the offer, and they spend a long time talking about all the wishes, needs and fears of the prince. It’s a very intimate moment. When it’s time to go, another guy offers to drive the prince home on the back of his bike, they apparently live quite close to each other. [...]

The prince accepts the offer and holds tightly around the guy's waist as they fly down the steep streets in the night. This too is a very intimate moment. They stop to listen to some people playing jazz in an open doorway, they drink something French and get back on the bike in a slightly wobblier manner.

The prince goes to bed alone, undeniably aroused, relaxed and smiling like a goof. Drunk from the experience, and probably from the wine.

Next day is the first day of November. The prince does not notice this in time, and it catches him by surprise.

He ́s experiencing the tiniest of hangovers, only seen in France, just enough to wake you up hungry and anxious. Anxiety gets worse when you’re in an unfamiliar house, especially if you fear it has bedbugs. The prince goes outside hoping it will help.

It does! It always helps. He goes straight up to the top, the tippidy tip top of the city, where the view is magnificent, and the air is fresh. There are lots of hills here, which is one of the prince’s favorite traits of any city, it comes with such a great opportunity to surprise you. You walk and walk, through narrow streets with high, scuffled buildings, not sure of the direction. And suddenly the street opens wide, the light pours in through the gap and you can see everything; the sea, the mountains, the hills, the streets, the buildings, the tiny people, the smoke from all the restaurants and the bedbug infested sheets hanging out of windows to dry. The city looks very French, everything here looks very French. Shouldn’t come as

a surprise really.

He has a key to somewhere, somewhere new and not yet visited. He goes there next. It’s a beautiful place. Fabrics hanging from nothing, nice people with strange jobs and a little kitchen to make more coffee. There’s a child there too, I forgot his name, but he likes to point his tiny red laser pen in the prince’s face. Probably to see if he will react, he doesn’t. The child smiles.

He goes to the park, where people are fighting. Supervised fighting, practicing with long wooden sticks. It looks really cool. The prince would like to learn but the people seem really advanced already, plus, the prince wouldn’t know how to ask.

Later that day, at the new apartment with 3 dead bedbugs,

3 beers and 1 lovely boy called Luka, the light has shifted, and with it his mood. In the calmness of the afternoon, and after treating the hangover with some bread and cheese, the new bedbug-house seems less scary, less strange. It’s unfamiliar, but he knows it now. He finds an old album of French rap that he used to like, it’s still good. He sits down to write as he waits for the lovely boy called Luka to come home from work, maybe Luka wants to drink something French.

Scilla's work was part of the Parisonline artist residency.


Klara Keller on the road in Austin

Text and Photography by Klara Keller

The Swedish singer went to Texas to make music and came home with a travel diary in Jack Keruac spirit. Follow Parisonline’s U.S correspondent on her journey through Austin towards her next album.

Part 1: Touchdown Austin, Texas

It was quite a journey to get to Austin, Texas, in October. I was planning to spend a month in the city to work on new music, gather fresh inspiration, and I arrived with a fresh blank slate. I had to take three flights to get there, which was unusual, since usually you only have one layover, but I had chosen a cheaper flight to save some money. I arrived in Austin at night, and the first thing that happened as I stepped out of my taxi was a woman calling my name from across the street. She turned out to be my neighbor and had been waiting for my arrival, knowing I would be getting to the house late at night. The house was a music residency I had applied to for a month of music creation. She showed me around the house and my music studio, and her welcoming attitude was so surprisingly friendly. I don't think I've ever felt so safe and warmly received, which made me realize early on that the people in this city are the most open, kind, and welcoming folks I've ever encountered. Traveling alone can make you feel vulnerable, as many of you probably know. I started my stay by going out on my own in the evenings to different places, bars, and concerts to soak in the city's vibe and get to know who was hanging out in this city. Compared to Paris, where I had to struggle to be accepted and fit in, I was now easily embraced and socially accepted by these young, open-minded Americans. I got to ride with my new friends in their cars to various concerts and Honky Tonk bars. On my third day. They say people there are stressed, busy, leading individualistic lives. In Texas, people are much more laid- back. However, a guy told me there's a significant difference between Austin and the rest of Texas. Austin is like a blue dot in the red Republican Texas. People here are open, liberal, young, and more forward-thinking than the rest of the state. What I also didn't know about Texas is that it's the second-largest state in the USA in terms of land area. If I drive 14 hours north from here, I'm still in Texas. That's why I asked the guy if Americans feel like they all live in the same country or if it's difficult to grasp, feeling like each state is its own little country. He said it feels like one and the same country despite the significant divides, and it has changed over the years.

Texas used to be part of Mexico, and since the state is located near the Mexican border, many people have Mexican roots, and there's a lot of Mexican influence in the culture and food. Honestly, I don't think I've eaten anything else during my three weeks here. Austin is quite clearly divided into the northern and southern parts, with a river in between. On the western side, you can go swimming in the river. Barton Springs is a pool in the green, sparkling river. Here, turtles swim, little lizards crawl, 

hawks fly, and mosquitoes buzz around. Barton Springs is a must-visit if you come here! Texas gets incredibly hot in the summer, which people find to be a downside to Austin. I've had a paradise here in October as a Swede, but I can imagine it's unbearable during the summer months. Barton Springs is in the southwest part of the city, but it's mostly in the northeast,

around East 6th, where people hang out and go out.

What’s Austin to me:


Favorite Areas

East 6th
The Drag
South Congress


Red River

Favorite Expressions

Hell yeah!

Favorite Drink

Frozen Margaritas

Lone Star Beer
White Claw Selters

Favorite Cigarettes

American Spirits


where the past meets the future

Text and Photography by Parisonline

Graphic by Phoebe Crookes

Namasenda has her eyes set on the future. The Swedish hyperpop musician loves action movies, rides fast cars and has released her songs on PC music and YEAR0001, two legendary labels within the contemporary music scene. “I see no point in looking back” - so that’s exactly what Parisonline asked her to do. She drew us a timeline of the most significant events in her past and in her future, meeting at the point of the present: Ambrosia, her newly released EP. We suggest you put your headphones on, even the stream of time sounds good when Namasenda is in charge.


Moved to Stockholm, August 2015


“I moved to Stockholm specifically to work with this guy, I can’t tell you who, it’s a secret. We produced such good music but then we stopped working together and I stayed even though that wasn’t the plan. It’s an important time for me because now Stockholm is my whole life. I’ve always felt like it’s home for me, I guess in a way that I didn’t find in other cities.”

Soundtrack: Beautiful by A. G. Cook

Note by N: If you listen to the song with headphones it sounds like a coin is falling. I remember walking around in Stockholm with this song and always thinking I dropped something.


Signed with PC Music, November 2018

“We had a session after my friend sent a drunk DM to A. G. Cook through my phone. I didn’t think it went well but I guess so since I signed with them. I was just happy to work with A. G because he’s awesome, that was more the goal. Back then everything was so hopeful, but then it turned out as it did. Today I can look back with love on what Alex and I produced and the relationship I got with 

Hannah Diamond. But like everything around the label was a mess in all the ways you can imagine. People didn’t do their job. So leaving in December last year was quite a relief."

Soundtrack: I Don’t Like by Chief Keef

Note by N: On repeat.

Europetour, November 2022

“My tour was very successful, to meet everyone who's taken part of my songs a year after releasing them was incredible. Even though it was quite tough psychologically and logically, my tourmanager was a crazy crazy man, but I mean it turned out well. Don’t ask me which cities I played in, I have no idea. But I remember London, because it was absolutely sold out”

Soundtrack: Unlimited Ammo by Namasenda

Note by N: Obviously.

Releasing the EP Ambrosia, October 2023

“I remeber sitting at LAX waiting on my flight back to Sweden, thinking fuck. My plan had been to write in LA but everything sounded bad. I got an epiphany that I wanted to work with Simon Hessman and sent him a text like “meet me in the studio tomorrow”. Then back in Stockholm the EP started growing just like that.”

“When I was working on the EP I secretly sat in YEAR0001’s studio and one day I was out walking in Hägersten with Woesum. We talked about my song Rosa where I refer to Ambrosia and he proposed that it should be the name of the EP. I’m so proud of it, I’ve been so invested in every detail. I was going through a lot of personal stuff while making it. The name, Ambrosia, is the nectar in the ancient Greek mythology that brings them immortality. For me it’s about that, immortality, and mortality.”

Soundtrack: Ambrosia by Namasenda

Upcoming album, in the future

“I’m working on a new project that I’m very excited about. I'm not sure how it’s gonna turn out yet but I walk around fantasizing about it. To finish it, to start the visual process... I think and hope it’s gonna be my best project so far. I’m really giving all my time and patience with it.”

Soundtrack: I origins film by Mike Cahill

Note by N: IMPOSSIBLE to choose, I get more inspired by movies or stuff sometimes.

Collab with Future, in the future


“My Scorpio king, I love him so much it would be like the coolest thing. After that I could just like I don’t know, I’m done. That’s my future.”

Soundtrack: Low Life by Future ft. The Weeknd


Grammy, Billboard, VMA... (in the future)


“I’m gonna win prizes. In plural.”

Soundtrack: Michicant by Bon Iver

Parisonline Archive

Welcome to Parisonline’s virtual exhibition. No soggy pretzels, just beautiful things. Submit your material and become part of the eternal archive.

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Klara Keller on the road in Austin

Text and Photography by Klara Keller

The Swedish singer went to Texas to make music and came home with a travel diary in Jack Keruac spirit. Follow Parisonline’s U.S correspondent on her journey through Austin towards her next album.

Part 2: The Music Scene and My Music Process

As I mentioned, it's super easy to get around and meet new people in this city, especially if you're a young creative type. Austin is known for being a young city, thanks to the University of Texas (UT) at its heart. Even at 26,

I sometimes felt old in certain places. When I spent time in the city, I realized that shows, concerts, releases, and exhibitions happen every day in this city without breaks. I got to know a punk rock photographer who knew most of the bands in the city, and she took me to many gigs. That's how I got into the music scene here. The local bands here play in the city, hold on, several times a month. There are countless venues, big and small, and during my month here, I haven't been able to visit them all. Besides the punk rock scene, there's a big country scene with many honky-tonk places where they also dance the two-step. I highly recommend experiencing this to get the full Texas experience. Live music, hats, boots, dancing, lap steel, fiddle, organ, beer, and margaritas.

Many people from California come here for tours. Generally, more and more people have moved from California and Los Angeles to Austin, and Texans have mixed feelings about it. One guy told me, "They're ruining our city," while others who love LA don't have an issue with it. Austin is like a smaller, more affordable, and laid-back version of LA. A friend I talked to said that in traffic, you can tell if someone is from the West because they always signal, and those from California often don't. She had plans to move to LA and liked people from California, but nowadays, she finds herself asking, "Where's my wave?" every day in traffic. Austin, like LA, is heavily car-dependent. Everywhere. There's no subway, and barely any sidewalks to walk on. That's why I'm grateful to have found friends who are willing to pick me up and drive me around the city. In fact, one of the best things to do in Austin, in my opinion, is cruising around in a car at night and listening to music.

I had a large room with a grand piano in the middle and an acoustic Gibson, which is all I really needed. When I arrived, I wasn't quite sure what I should create, so I waited for my own intuition to guide the way. I already had unfinished songs and productions from Stockholm and felt the need to take the time to truly finish them. I completed my Swedish album in two weeks, and it's thanks to Austin that it actually got done, and I felt strong motivation for it.

When I emotionally felt done with the album, I started creating new demos and embryos based on my influences and feelings here in Austin. The thing is, most of the music that inspired me came from all the road trips we took with friends on the highways at night. The music has been very diverse but exclusively American. Many artists from New York, some from California. There is a specific American alternative/indie sound that only Americans can produce, and it has been inspiring to be constantly exposed to it. Mostly a lot of guitars, now more of a mix of synths, digital drum sounds, chimes, samples, audio files cut from voice memos. A lot of chorus, not much reverb. I like it a lot, and it has made me very inspired.

What's Austin to me:


Best Bars in Austin

Tweedy's Bar
Hotel Vegas
C-Boy's Heart & Soul

Yellow Jacket


Butterfly Bar

Best Second-Hand Stores
Buffalo Exchange
Sunday Market on Guadalupe Street

Best Tex-Mex
Licha's Cantina
Chilito on Manor Road
Any and all food trucks,

there's a looot

Best Music Venues

Hotel Vegas
Ballroom/Spider House


13th Floor - Scoot-In

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Getens Öga

Film by Nora Persson

In a forest we stumble upon two creatures and their meeting.

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Redrawing the map of political resistance w/ Andreas Malm

Text by Tova Olsson, Photography by Luka Perkins Petit,

Video by Julia Eklund & Tova Olsson

Andreas Malm, professor of human ecology in Sweden by day, internationally considered a rockstar of the climate movement by night. Loved and hated, the FBI issued warnings about his book How to blow up

a pipeline and made Andreas a name for himself as one of the most original thinkers of the climate movement. Parisonline went looking for the man who claims that we need a climate movement that’s not afraid to get high and eat the rich. Take part of this trippy Zoom meeting and get to action :)

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Andreas has claimed that Sweden, proud home country of Greta Thunberg, is “the sickest country in the Global North” as headquarters of climate fatalism - the idea that it’s too late to do something about climate change. Through a crackling phone line I read him one of his own quotes:

Climate fatalism is for those on top. The most starry-eyed renewable energy entrepreneur, the most self righteous believer in veganism, the most compromised-prone parliamentarian is infinitely preferable to the white man of the North who says ‘we're doomed - fall in peace’. Within the range of climate denial, none is more despicable.

Andreas laughs but then states: "There is no scientific evidence whatsoever for the idea that what we're doing now makes no difference. That climate change is happening and causing disastrous damage does not change the fact there is still a lot of suffering to be avoided.” With the planet filled to the brim with CO2, he argues that our actions count more than ever. “Every gigaton matters, every single terminal and pipeline and SUV car

and superyacht makes a difference”, as all of the above might be the drop that makes the cup runneth over and triggers a natural disaster. In that sense, global warming is a loaded gun pointed at the most vulnerable. Andreas sighs and continues: “Climate fatalism is formulated from a position of privilege by people who can look the catastrophe right in the eye but decide to do nothing, because they have the resources to make it.

Therefore I think it's slightly irritating to say that it's just as well to give up...”

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According to him, even the climate movement in the Global North suffers from inaction. Extinction Rebellion, in the general discourse considered radical, are by Andreas criticized for positioning themself “beyond politics” and for having sworn fidelity to the non-violence principle. A standpoint speaking of a fetishation of their own purity rather than of a sober choice of tactics. To refrain from sabotage is to refrain from pointing out the real source of the problem, Andreas argues.“It is the rich that drive the emergency, a climate movement that does not want to eat the rich will never hit home. Without social anger it will end up alienating the people who have the least to gain of business-as-usual.”

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How to blow up a pipeline is in many ways a literal call to arms. Pipelines and SUVs, not only sources of CO2 emissions, are as property the very representation of the white power structure; as for why the suffragettes or the civil rights movement took to property destruction and gained success from it. Andreas suggests that we do the same, by taking advantage of the general vulnerability of energy systems and use small means to disrupt entire powerplats. Or, by cutting up the tires of an SUV as described in his book:

“Unscrew the cap on the valve of the tyre. Inside, there is a pit that will release the air if pushed down. Insert a piece of gravel the size of a boiled couscous grain or corn of black pepper - or, we suggest, use a mung bean - and screw the cap back on. With the little object pressing down the pin inside the valve, the tyre will be fully deflated after an hour.” 

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You often write about the Global North as an entity, but Sweden and France have completely different attitudes towards non-violence and sabotage. In France, property destruction is a natural part of the political resistance. What are your thoughts on the differences of approach in France and Sweden?

“Sweden is politically so extremely behind on all levels. France is the only country in Europe where you get the feeling that things can perhaps change. Because it is the only country that has a living tradition of political resistance and mass protest, unfortunately it rarely leads to victories. The demonstrations against the pension reform led to defeat, and that's how it’s generally been in recent years. In any case, people fight back. In Sweden, that doesn't happen.”

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The climate crisis is yet another ugly face of how property is considered to stand above human life. To redraw the map of what’s radical (it’s not Extinction Rebellion) and what’s reasonable (sabotage) when it comes to political resistance, is thus a necessity. Earlier this year, during the demonstrations against the pension reform, France was literally on fire. While the political system is taking a more and more abstract form,

the will of the people took a concrete one: windows were shattered and trash was burning. Some would call it vandalism, some would call it taking matters into one's own hands. In Andreas' opinion, there's no point in wasting time debating definitions: “If destroying fences is a kind of violence, it was violence of the sweetest kind. I was high for weeks afterwards. All the despair that the climate breakdown generates on a daily basis was out of my system, if only temporarily; I had had an injection of collective empowerment.”

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Mental breakdown

Text and Video by Lucas Bonaccorsi

Lucas Bonaccorsi: Artist presentation


Lucas is 24 years old, he comes from a family which like many, burst rapidly. So he grew up alone with his mother in St-Vincent de Tyrosse, a small town in the southwest of France.

After a curriculum in a vocational high school, he decided to fully dedicate himself to his art. He instinctively started to create in abundance at a very young age. His curiosity, passion, and clear-headed sensitivity allowed him to constantly evolve. The practice of skateboarding and the smiles of his loved ones fed a spirit of perseverance within him.

Forced to battle against the temptation of alienation from our social environments, Lucas early developed a heavy internal torment and had to learn to live with himself. According to him, individuals are consumed by the material reality in which we evolve. Self-awareness and acknowledgement are essential to create the world in which we want to live. The reality in which we evolve is a playground. The artist's work is the crash-test of the most trivial and mental games of our reality.

It's in this futility that Lucas offers us an ethereal and edifying creation. His practice is conceptual and generous, spread across various types of media. His work consists of a constant duality, both in the substance and the form of his creations. His artistic realm is like a planisphere without hemispheres. All that remains is an equatorial line, which the variables composing his work flow into.

A slightly naive voice on some weighty subjects gives us the impression of listening to a child who has grown up too quickly. The study of the absurd and its ironic reflection is central. Lucas enjoys giving a poetic and philosophical dimension to things normally soulless. Beauty, aesthetics are only here as special guests; they are not the main actors in Lucas's craft. If the form is beautiful, the content will probably be the most awful.

He wish for his works to enable people to keep learning about themselves and rise. Therefore, he will never stop encouraging people to confront their dreams with the reality in which they are submerged. Today, he seeks to deepen and improve his practice and leave his mark in this wide playground.

Artwork presentation: Mental Breakdown


In his research, Lucas explores various types of media. His work appears to be a deep and thoughtful artistic exploration, blending personal elements, lived experiences, and contemplation of emotions and the absurdity of life. Here, he presents an initial experiment through video and oral discourse.

Following an INTERCELL event held in Amsterdam in October 2021, the tinnitus he experienced became the starting point for his artistic reflection. This event raised questions in him about how sensory experiences affect our minds, ultimately leading to the creation of this work.

The event took place in a metallic cavity of a ship. High-pitched tones, sharp noises, the crowd's outbursts of joy, shifts in pitch and volume. An image of a medieval battlefield split on a screen emerged: sounds of clashing metals, the efforts of weapons and armor, rallying cries, eardrums numbed by adrenaline and exploding powder barrels. He attended this event with his ex, his first love who is no longer in his life today.

Over time, the idea for this video reappeared, clearer this time. He wanted to depict the forced and ignorant exhilaration of the soldier, the insignificance of conflict, and the enduring love within the depths of the soul despite the surrounding hatred. Lucas then conveys these emotions in an idyllic and dreamlike setting. By transposing the war into the familiar context of a garden, Lucas explores the concept of conflict and absurdity. He represents this garden by describing his childhood one, symbolizing a territorial war with the hedge separating his garden from the neighbor's. We follow the reflection of a soldier lost in the vastness of his thoughts and the battlefield.

Lucas integrated technology into his creative process, using video game design software to create the backdrop for his work. This combination of visual elements, colors, and audio discourse enriches the artistic experience. He seeks to capture the absurdity of life by blending contradictory emotions. The protagonist moves in a loop that brings us back to the starting point of an ironic yet optimistic reasoning. This work is designed to shock and unsettle; there are no clear answers. We appreciate the time spent in a message-in- a-bottle cast out to sea.

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Hotel Lobby Poetry
ft. Bloodz Boi & felicita

Text and Photography by Parisonline

Two musicians, two hotel lobbies, two poems. Bloodz Boi is the pioneer of the underground rap scene in Beijing, he released his debut album 365 with the Swedish label YEAR0001 and is now considered a legend of the cloud rap genre. felicita is the multidisciplinary dj and performer, twisting sound and words on the record label PC Music , known to have redrawn the map of electronic hyperpop.

Pick your fighter !


Parisonline met felicita at the Moxy Hotel in Berlin. A hotel close to the central station where frat house meets alp cabin. While waiting for the mysterious producer and DJ, the legendary swedish rapper Sebbe Staxx is streaming from the speakers in the lobby. Apparently the barman loves old swedish rap. Coming straight from the soundcheck at Berghain, felicita orders green tea and reads us an unfinished poem, changing the title last minute.

Why did you choose this text?

I was really obsessed with this queen Jadwiga of Poland. From my mom's side of the family I was taught a lot about Polish history and this queen was my grandma's favourite. I’ve always loved her name and the fact that you don’t need to be Polish to be able to read it. So I wanted to use this text and her name to make an electro pop song called Jadwiga. Without making any more references to her, like I’m creating a new Jadwiga.

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What inspires your writing?

I think the initial feeling of creating something new and exciting for yourself. Language and words itself can be a fun material. I’m not deeply autobiographical, it’s usually third person and storytelling even though my feelings might come through from a character or a scene.

Parisonline met Bloodz Boi at the Hilton in Berlin. It was late and dark outside, but Bloodz Boi just woke up: “I can’t sleep well. My days consist of trying to sleep or taking pills waiting to sleep or sleeping.” The chairs in the lobby were of black leather and the fireplace was fake. We ordered whiskey, Bloodz Boi wanted a glass of water. Then he read us a poem from the notes on his phone, written by him in October 2023.

Why did you choose this text?

Because I thought about the river. A really cold river, like Berlin. It’s not just the weather, the city itself gives me a river feeling.

Since you write in Chinese, does it ever bother you that most European listeners don’t understand your lyrics?

No, because they can feel what I feel. I don’t need people to tell me that I gotta stay healthy or to stay away from pills, people that feel me will believe that I can go through this. That I can take care of myself.


When I was young I felt like nobody cared. I just wanted people to understand me. To listen to my words. So then I made music and people started to respect me. I still make music because I want to be understood. It’s what’s most important. That’s higher than the respect.

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How did you come up with the title Spalarkle for your

latest album?

Finishing this album, I would go to the park and write lists of words that I think expressed the album. Like sparkle, light, shimmer. I was rearranging these words to create new ones, taking sparkle and shimmer to create spimmer. So throughout this kind of language game came Spalarkle. For me it’s a word that expresses lightness.

What's your approach to text?

I was always a frustrated artist as a language student, so my favourite writers were the super experimental ones. When I was finishing my studies I did a series of essays of blind translations. I would take a text of Goethe for example even though I’ve never studied german. And I would translate it blindly, trying to amuse myself. It was a rebellion against my strict studies.

I have been touring a lot in Australia and I remember that someone who watched my show sent me a message on Instagram. He wrote me that one of my songs made him think about a memory, how used to lock himself inside his house during highschool. He told me that he could even smell the air of the time. That the song gave him the memory. It made me very happy. I feel so grateful and so lucky.

What is the core of your texts?

Me, I think. A lot of artists have influenced me (he rolls up his sleeve and shows a tattoo of a Dean Blunt album cover) but the core is always myself. I don't write about real life, my poems are about my mind. Not because I live an exciting life, I don’t. I go touring to give myself a reason to go outside, because I think it’s good for my health. It’s good for me to see some people, to see my friends. I love my friends.


How do you write your music?

I don't have a process and I don’t follow many rules. Sometimes I try to learn, but that’s not what I really want. I try to get into people's flesh and see me. That’s my poetry, and you can write down yours, it’s easy.

You've said that language is insufficient, why ?

Since I come from a background of studying it, there was this kind of exhaustion with language and communicating at a certain point. But it’s a shame to me to abandon language just because I’m tired of learning it. It would be nice to find a way of not having that block. Now that you’re asking me I dont think I’m super clear on my relationship to text. It’s probably something I should have a clearer attitude to in some ways.

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Late at night, I take a lot of sleeping pills. I can’t quit (rolls of his sleeve to show another tattoo, showing the molecule of the substance), I have this tattoo because one day I want to. After having taken them I will randomly make melodies or record when I sing. The pills make me lose my memory so when I wake up the next day and check my laptop everything is totally new to me. I like that feeling. I save the parts I like and never re-record them. I want to keep that emotion you know. Maybe the first take is bad but bad is ...okay. Music shouldn’t be beautiful. What is beautiful? No one can give it a meaning. If you have a clear heart you can say whatever you want.

How do you write lyrics, despite this exhaustion ?

If I can twist the words into new forms that are as existing as new sounds then it's something I would work with. But if it’s language as we know it, it often feels boring to me. I don’t wanna be so down on language but I guess I always wanna push it into something that’s exciting and unknown to me. With electronic music in our generation we are so lucky with the technology to create new crazy sounds. So I want language to be on that level too and if it can’t be I’ll just get rid of it.



Text by Marie Garza and Jahs, Photography by Marie Garza

Marie Garza left Paris the 26th of October with three suitcases of supplies for Gaza and wrote us a rapport.

Jahs took his political activism somewhere between journalism and militancy and wrote us a poem.

“s’en fout-on des révolutions

le poème ?”

que depuis quelque temps tout est pensé

selon l’ordre de l’anatomie, pourtant

personne n’a encore ana-tomisé

la palestine

                    p-a-l-e-s-t-i-n-e p-a-l-e-s-t-i-ne p-a-l-e-s-t-i-n-e p-a-l-e-s-t-i-n-e                       p-a-l-e-s-t-i-n-e p-a-l-e-s-t-i-n-e p-a-l-e-s-t-i-n-e p-a-l-e-s-t-i-n-e                     p-a-l-e-s-t-i-n-e p-a-l-e-s-t-i-n-e p-a-l-e-s-t-i-n-e p-a-l-e-s-t-i-n-e

s’en fout-on des corps palestiniens ou bien

c’est l’interrègne qui mugit
tel un claquement DEFINITIF dans l’histoire ??

terre au loin stylisée par son mariage faustien
avec-l’image - empreinte de nous même réfléchie en tout support
vue de près la mort verse des larmes // vue de loin la mort verse des larmes donc ni vu ni connu la larme est abolie.

continuons jérusalem-ouest/jérusalem-est
                    donne d’abord Israel/Palestine (Palestine/Israel)

que multiplie ordre colonial
                    mais que divise ordre international

à moins que les coups de semonce viennent majoritairement de l’effort consistant à répéter


tes pierres finissent enfragmentées sous les roulis des chars et des équipages cybernétiques.

l’égalité ou rien c’était la comptine
patinant sur les vélléités à deux Etats
il y avait les embrassades qu’aux embrasures les Massacres de rêves
impatients récitaient à la mer.

l’égalité ou rien c’était la comptine
que des poètes frottaient dans l’air
pourvoyant ainsi de sel la mer
qu’un courant électro-militaire réussira
bientôt (??) à engloutir, et le poète et sa pensée.

l’égalité ou rien c’était la comptine
qu’ils supportent l’épilogue, tes yeux
n’ayant eut de la vague que le blanc de l’histoire

comme celle des spectres de Pompéi, tes yeux

espaceront pour toujours l’infinie lamentation de

la splendide terra nullius.

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When I saw the catastrophe of Gaza through my phone, it took me less than a day to come up with a plan of action. It took five runs to the nearest Franprix to pick up bread, flour, beans, clementines, any food I knew could last and be filling. I went to three pharmacies to pack aid and I took all of my paints and brushes for the Palestinian children. A reminder that Palestinian children are still children, and they deserve to be. After flying to Cairo International from Paris, I rented a car and with the help from a mutual friend from Egypt (who will remain anonymous for the sake of safety). In hindsight, I wouldn’t have gotten in without his connections.

Getting through the Rafah Border Crossing, we started distributing the food to each tent- one pack of flour, two cans of beans, and four clementines to each group. Trying to stretch out as much to everyone as we could. But it wasn’t enough, three suitcases is little in comparison to what was needed. At this time, the Aid from Morocco and Turkey were just sitting at El-Arish airport in Egypt, and the roads upon entering Rafah Border had been destroyed by the IDF. That was only the beginning of the journey, and although I knew what I was getting myself into, there’s no way to describe the experience of what is now Nakba 2023. The Genocide happening before my eyes is a reality so surreal that it doesn’t feel true. For two days I pulled people out from rubble, and there was a guy holding something in a small blanket. It turned out to be flesh, the only piece he could find when his family home had been bombed while he’d been out in search of bread.

I still had the medical supplies to hand out and only two main hospitals in Gaza I knew were still open. So I took the decision to drive halfway and walk the other half. The ground was made of complete rubble and impossible to get through by car. The air was unbreathable, a foul odor of decomposing corpses mixed with iron and building debris. Homes bombed to the ground scattered within every inch of the walkway, family photos under rubble, destroyed buildings enough to see the inside of decorated living rooms and bedrooms which once were meant for everything but this. My thought went to the lives lived in those half bombed homes, and to wonder if those people sought out shelter elsewhere or if they had been martyred.

It took a little over an hour to get to Dar Al-Shifa hospital. There was a five year old girl, holding herself and shaking endlessly, with shock in her eyes of trauma. Blood that wasn’t her own all over her pink pajamas printed with “My little pony” characters on it. This same cartoon I was fond of and had similar pajamas at her age. I asked the doctor her familial whereabouts and he said that she had lost her entire family to a bombing happening three hours prior. I took off my black scarf imprinted with outlines of golden suns and wrapped it around her little body. Opening my arms out to suggest to her to let me hold her, she crawled onto my lap. I put her hand to close her right ear and the other I enclosed enough for the only sound she could hear was the lullaby I sang to her. The bombs were going off five seconds from the last, as the mothers and fathers were frantically crying nearby, and as people were shouting for medical help, all I desperately wanted her to hear was the song of Frère Jacques.


Klara Keller on the road in Austin

Text and Photography by Klara Keller

The Swedish singer went to Texas to make music and came home with a travel diary in Jack Keruac spirit. Follow Parisonline’s U.S correspondent on her journey through Austin towards her next album.

Part 3: Europeans and Americans

Americans have asked me about bedbugs in Europe. They've heard about all the standing travelers in the Paris metro and see it as a catastrophe because they've never experienced bedbugs like that themselves. It made me realize that Austin is a very clean city. As I've discovered, the streets and homes are relatively clean compared to Europe and Paris, for instance. Generally, every American I've spoken to has been genuinely interested in Europe. Most haven't been there yet, but many want to go, and those who have visited have mostly been to Barcelona and Spain.

Some have been to Paris, but not many have said they enjoyed being there. They feel embarrassed to be Americans when they step outside of the USA, especially when they visit a city like Paris. They perceive Parisians as unwelcoming, and when trying to converse, "they just roll their eyes," say the Americans I meet here. And this, to me, feels so unfair when they themselves are so welcoming and interested in Europeans who come here. Once again, I've never been so well taken care of and warmly received as by these Texans, and I think all of us Europeans should reciprocate the same kindness!

What's Austin to me:


Best Local Bands

Die Spitz
Being Dead
Farmer's Wife

The Shooks
Party Van
Sarah and the Sundays

Best Honky-Tonks
C-Boy's Heart & Soul
White Horse Honky Tonk

Sage Brush

Best Stand-Up Comedy Venues

Fall Out Theatre
Velveeta Room
Esther's Follies


Spiritual Quiz: Tune in to
your inner DJ.

Everything always ends with a DJ in Berlin and so does this issue of Parisonline.

Thanks for reading.

If you want to contribute to Vol. III, write us an e-mail at or DM us @parisonline.mag

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