Back

Remuza & Romulusa

The story of an unlived past life: the oneiric presence of Remuza & Romulusa. An alternative reality in a vast ocean of infinite possibilities. Do myths exist? What happens to the myths that haven’t been written down, and yet keep echoing? I sometimes wonder about the threshold between story and history. Does it look a certain way? It must smell like something, or maybe a taste of deception. What has been experienced has existed. What has been once dreamed of exists forever, a fluttering potential cosmos. Remuza & their sibling Romulusa are eternal beings, unfolding their inexistence to the eyes of the ones who can see.

Two small flickering silhouettes floating through the Tiber. The river divinity Tibernus understood the fluid composure of Rhea Silvia’s twins. Just as if they were part of its body of water. Fleeing the rape culture that spawned them, they were about to start the rejuvenation of their specie. Undefined drops going down the current. Cast away from the realm of kings, Remuza & Romulusa were beginning the journey of their inner truth. Within the fluid element they were saved, through the water they escaped, in the unstable matter they exist.
Found by the Lupa, they were raised in the forest. Gnarling, crawling, hunting, playing, they nurtured their wildness. From the undomesticated life emerged a truth; their being remained untouched. Suckled by the Lupa they calmed their thirst, fed by the Picus they grew.
Time flew undisturbed, while history was written at the hand of men, the life of the wild was touching upon eternity. In the heart of the forest the borders blurred. The raw symbiosis of the interspecies reality nurtured them. Their eyes were closed. The Lupa watched over them. Their breath flowing steadily, they were dreaming of undefined spaces.

Their first encounter with their biological kind was a tale to remember. Two shepherds with their dog stumbled onto them and their wolf mother, the Lupa. Four bipeds, and two quadrupeds. An almost symmetrical composition, and yet diametrically opposed. The shepherds tried to kill the Lupa, the very own Mother of Remuza & Romulusa. Their unleashed domesticated dog, forced to attack, was barking at them, the saliva dripping of its bare fangs. If the two siblings already witnessed the violence of the hunt, part of the natural cycle of the wildlife, this seemingly unreasonable attack was beyond comprehension. They could not understand the underlying reasons opposing the humans and their dog to the wolves, the quarrel, old as time, opposing the wild to the domestic. For Remuza & Romulusa, the shepherds’ sight reminded them of their early years, and of the tragedy that forced them into exile. The dog was now running towards them at high speed, the disformed howls coming out of its maw only matched by the violent screams of the shepherds, threatening them from the back with their manufactured javelins. Jumping in front of their mother, the siblings desperately screamed with one voice the name of the deity Tibernus, instinctively remembering how they were once saved by the water. Echoing from the depth of the nearby river, an overwhelming sound of crashing waves blast, and the fangs and claws of the dogs, alongside the shepherds’ javelins, turned into water. Astonished by the display of elemental power the twins had just performed, the shepherds fell to their knees, begging for mercy.

“Rise and quit weeping. We have not attacked you, we embrace the potentiality of our coexistence, and so will you from now on. Only the futurity matters, the past is the origin, and the present is only a motion towards.” said the twins.

The water took form again, and the fangs and claws of the dog reappeared, so did the javelins. The shepherds did not try another attack. Mesmerized by the fluid presence of the twins, they went back to their herd downhill, and lived to tell the tale of the water deities Remuza & Romulusa, children of the Lupa.

Running, flowing, appearing, and disappearing, the streets of the city seemed like the ever-expanding roots of an old oak. If one would blink, the alleyways could have changed directions. Open spaces became narrow streets in a flash. The inhabitants of Rome seemed undisturbed by such an unstable environment. They would walk, stop, dance, laugh, fuck, fuck again, sleep, run and leave, in an eternal organic cabaret. Spaces had no purpose because all was constantly moving, changing, flowing. Some days the streets would appear vertically, or curve around to become loopy bridges. In the cracks of Rome would bloom temporary utopias, orgiastic ephemeral moments intensely burning before disappearing into ashes.

Tongue licking tongue licking cock penetrating ass, the hands always hold on to something, dancing in the dark and in the light; the flesh melts as the holes get filled, no orifice left open by the ever-sliding cocks fingers wetting pussies licked by mouth to mouth to ass to cock; the massed bodies would become fluttering flesh monsters casting their gorgeous shadows on the moving walls of Rome.
Since the now legendary event of the twins and the shepherds, decades have passed. Remuza and Romulusa grew into adulthood. Their bodies developed in different shapes, Remuza became a strong solar creature while Romulusa became a fascinating long and thin being of the dark. Their mutual completion was perfect. Since the now legendary event of the twins and the shepherds, the twins created the un-bordered city of Rome. An organic space in perpetual creation/de-creation where hundreds of species would thrive together. Cultures would born and die and rebirth.

Its un-bordered and undefined nature was glitching the map, all worldly scholars struggling to archive its existence in any way. The European history that followed this oneiric timeline was one marked by fluidity. No idea was resisting the relentless waves of change, all shapes were welcomed in the organic matrix, only to then disappear. If imperialism had been dreamed of by some, the stillness it required could never exist within the tidal reality.

Echoing from the depth of a nearby river, an overwhelming sound of crashing waves blasts. Reverbing in a whisper, the names of Remuza and Romulusa repeat, endlessly, unfolding their inexistence to the ears of the one who hears.

They would walk, stop, dance, laugh, fuck, fuck again, sleep, run and leave, in an eternal organic cabaret.

Concept: SasaHara
Text: SasaHara
Drag: SasaHara
Models: SasaHara, Barros
Photography: Harmen Meinsma
Styling: Yvana Muradin, SasaHara
Make-up: Minou Meijers, SasaHara
Hair: Ed Tijsen, SasaHara
Collage: Luca Barbieri

Back

PINK

A past life like no other, a virtual reality turned upside down…

The vague remnants of what is now so distant that it feels like ketamine. It comes back to her, as a song floating in her mind, gravity-less...

Soft as a feather. Soothing as a mother. Contained like anger. All that you have been assigned to be, 𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙆.

No rhetorical propositions allowed for you are a paragon. YOU, must set exemple. Your embodiment is your prison. The suffering incarnated. Do not gutter, swallow your anger, hide your excess, beauty and silence, 𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙆.

You are sacrificed on the altar and shamed like Aphrodite’s voluptuousness; a Venus for all, held tight in Zeus‘s grasp.

You have a life in the Matrix, the pre-conceived system of the almighty Fathers. At night, Morpheus‘s gifts sneak you out through the backdoor. And there you are, wandering the limbo. The primordial soup of all phantasms, broken-free desires. The dream-master’s sand hits your brain high. Unleashed spectra, you roam the high spears of your own carnality. Soaked in their blood you thrive, bathing in their genitalia you glow. Your true nature, 𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙆.

Every morning you are back, reporting for duty. The dreamcatcher traps you back in the unwanted reality. Sweet candies, beauty-doll, soothe their eyes, good Tramadol. Smile, and repeat. The jewel of the music box, safe and pretty, 𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙆.

When the Apocalypse arrived, they were taken by sheer surprise. Tearing the fabric of reality, the true colours entered the realm. Poor men with their 2-D sight, unable to grasp your true nature, 𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙆.

Insomnia, Anorexia, Paranoia, Hypochondria

Vomit your 𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙆 plague into their surprised open mouths. Let your 𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙆 scream tear their ears. Carnivorous, raptorial, predacious, untamed, savage, fierce, ferocious, deadly, submissive, gentle, wild, violent, insectivorous, down, up, upside down, 𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙆.

In the setting sun of their deceived feelings, your five-dimensional nature breaks the frame. You are out of the picture now, showing your true colour. 𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙆.

Concept: SasaHara
Drag: SasaHara
Text: SasaHara
Photography: Camographer
Text performance: SasaHara
Sound design: Momo Conzen

Back

Down in the Abyss

Light and darkness, a known polarisation. One is brought into the light when rightful, and equally kept in the dark if lost. Who decided of the realms over which light and darkness rule? Why can’t the light of one be the darkness of the other? Outcasts find their light in the dark, where the spotlights of oppression can’t reach. They search for the Abyss they can call home.

A few centuries ago – or was it only in dreams? – she was roaming the seas of the realm of Poseidon. Being a gender-bending water spirit in the ultramasc society of the All-Seas Emperor carries its weight of challenges. Shallow waters are dominated by war-oriented crustaceans. The Deep Sea is paved with sadistic all-teeth Delphinidæs. Few are the undersea spaces where the outcasts can shelter, and she used to mostly hide within the rare coral reefs still untouched by the ever-expanding Human imperialism. It’s only after she barely survived one of the daily assaults led by the Mermen of the sea-god's court that she took the decision to escape. Where can you find hope when patriarchy faces you on all sides? The violent seas are all-surrounding, crawling wih conquering father-figures trying to earn the favours of Poseidon.

Out of the oceans lies Humanity, yet another imperial force, destroyer of the Earth.

With pain, anger, rage, and sorrow weighing her down she started sinking.
Down, down below.
Down where no light can reach. Down in the abyss. Deep down at the edge of the known, dangerously flirting with the unknown.

Her thoughts were not controlling her movements anymore, pure instincts took over. Physical and mental abuse lead you there, survival mechanisms take over. Abuse brings you in this in-between state where conscious and unconscious seem without borders.

And there she was, sinking down like a dead-weight, at high speed, just as if the turmoil of emotions in her heart made her body heavier. The unleashed meteorite she had become was piercing through the Abyss, penetrating the obscurity with all her rage.

Suddenly the shadows around her started to dance, glimpses of evanescent bodies were forming. Laughs and giggles subtly echoed from them, as if mocking her, only without any means to offend. A type of mockery that meant no harm. A complicit laugh. A laugh that meant mutual understanding.

Her race started to slow down.

Slowly those shadow creatures’ shapes were growing more defined, she could now understand their contour. Even though some mysterious quality made them impossible to fully grasp with the eye. Those creatures were somewhat fluid. She finally stopped moving. In the giggling shadows she felt a warm embrace. In the abyss she found herself. Only in the dark could she finally be fluid.

Concept: SasaHara
Drag: SasaHara
Text: SasaHara
Photography: Kevin de Wit alias Vanity Love
Collage: Luca Barbieri
Text performance: SasaHara
Sound design: Jujulove

Back

Inferno

The echo of a fire is as vivid as the flame itself. Can our memories burn?

Up until this day she remembers the scorching skin. Even though centuries, even millennia, should have smoothened the pain. As she digs into the maddening corridors of her mind, she recollects the sights of the lava rivers, the floating brass islands and the infernal smoke atomizing her throat.

𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 her nails shatter. How could anything resist the infernal heat? Her skin is pushed inside, as if melting in, baring the bones. Fire-born creatures are meant not to suffer from their fiery environment. Growing up as a Djinn, she was taught not to fear the all-surrounding fire and rather embrace its might, never to question its destructive essence.

𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏 her eyelids close. The scorching pressure all around forces her to squeeze her eyes shut, to prevent them from liquefying. Why must the environment keep control over the body? Why does it seem that all the infernal beings exist so easily within the flames, when she feels imprisoned? Are we all performing a magnificent act to please the Grand Torch? Feeding the eternal hunger of the devouring blaze?

𝐓𝐀𝐏 𝐓𝐀𝐏 𝐓𝐀𝐏 the sweat drips, continuously flowing out. Running down, evaporating almost instantly. Torn between anxiety and the air set ablaze, her defence mechanisms are driven mad. Her biology works against her, summoned by the great Fire who wishes to consume.

Madness slowly welcomes her in its womb. A rare peaceful refuge within the flames.

𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 Her teeth chatter as she laughs gigantically. Slowly, all others walk away, whispering doomed judgements at the sight of her insanity.

𝐁𝐖𝐀𝐇 𝐇𝐀 𝐇𝐀 hurls her scorched throat, blasting infernal howls. The amplitude of her demented giggle only matches the abyssal fear in her mind. One word echoes all around as the surrounding firestorm presses her on all sides. Loneliness.

Slowly the infernal flame shifts into a soft brightness. The perspective changes. The illusion is gone. Reigning over her own realm, her body finally belongs to her, the adamant grasp of the inferno lost hold. In the high spears of warm air streams, she floats. The fire now lives in her. She is the flame.

Concept: SasaHara
Drag: SasaHara
Text: SasaHara
Art direction and 3D design of the visuals: Anke Sondi


Back

The Arena

Like a psychosomatic fantasy, the furious clamour of the crowd echoes in her mind. The anguished thrill of the stage is forever part of her, a parasitic fusion with her DNA. Just as a past life haunting her like an inescapable loop, an enclosed Arena.

It always starts with fear. A primordial terror tightening her guts in an impossible knot. There she stands, paralysed, motionless, the heavy charge of a sacred duty weighing her down. A dark hole is sucking her, like a mighty gravitational force blocking her every intention.

Suddenly, the light is gone, and the darkness rules for the eternity of a second. The fragile cosmic balance has been shattered and it always feels like an ending, as if there was no escaping the black hole.

It always starts with fear.

And yet, every single time a sour redemption takes her out of the dark, back into the light: a melancholic unchosen stardom.
The cycle continues, a tale old as time itself. As the last bit of her consciousness is about to vanish in the dark, a surge of power fills her from within. Sunrays blast, illuminating her, bathing her perimeter only to burn her alive. There she is, the lighthouse of the abyss. Sometimes she wonders, wouldn’t it be preferable to disappear in the void? Praying for the light never to come back?

The Arena welcomes her. The enslaved phoenix rises back from the ashes, and it must fight. Her voice pierces the shadows, her weapon of choice. The expert gladiator is back in the never escaped prison of the Arena. There she must fight, fight to exist. The combat must go on, the crowd’s carnal desire must be pleased. Their salivating howls reverb on the walls, soundwaves shattering her bones, undressing her soul. Their screams doping her mind, the fighting instincts take over. Her fluid reality is preyed on, cast away in the shadows she is now forced into the light, subject to the mighty tidal waves of their attention. The unwanted power burns her eyes, she hurls demented incantations, lost to the insanity of the Arena.

FIGHT, PIERCE, RETREAT, NEVER, SURRENDER

She knows every move, learned the choreography by force of habit. The carnivorous crowd challenges her to the battle royale.

HUNT, SHOOT, TRAP, CHOKE, GAG.

The last moans of the satisfied crowd eventually fill the air, announcing the curtain drop. Her heartbeat still runs 200 bpm, her breathing almost chokes her.

Feverishly looking around, she scouts the area to avoid any final ambush, but her last opponent has already vanished within the ground, just another illusion.

Quietly, she leaves the Arena through the main door. She won, and yet feels defeated, starring in her own bitter pantomime.

Concept: SasaHara
Drag: SasaHara
Text: SasaHara
Photography: Kevin de Wit alias Vanity Love
Collage: Luca Barbieri

The story of an unlived past life: the oneiric presence of Remuza & Romulusa. An alternative reality in a vast ocean of infinite possibilities. Do myths exist? What happens to the myths that haven’t been written down, and yet keep echoing? I sometimes wonder about the threshold between story and history. Does it look a certain way? It must smell like something, or maybe a taste of deception. What has been experienced has existed. What has been once dreamed of exists forever, a fluttering potential cosmos. Remuza & their sibling Romulusa are eternal beings, unfolding their inexistence to the eyes of the ones who can see.

Two small flickering silhouettes floating through the Tiber. The river divinity Tibernus understood the fluid composure of Rhea Silvia’s twins. Just as if they were part of its body of water. Fleeing the rape culture that spawned them, they were about to start the rejuvenation of their specie. Undefined drops going down the current. Cast away from the realm of kings, Remuza & Romulusa were beginning the journey of their inner truth. Within the fluid element they were saved, through the water they escaped, in the unstable matter they exist.
Found by the Lupa, they were raised in the forest. Gnarling, crawling, hunting, playing, they nurtured their wildness. From the undomesticated life emerged a truth; their being remained untouched. Suckled by the Lupa they calmed their thirst, fed by the Picus they grew.
Time flew undisturbed, while history was written at the hand of men, the life of the wild was touching upon eternity. In the heart of the forest the borders blurred. The raw symbiosis of the interspecies reality nurtured them. Their eyes were closed. The Lupa watched over them. Their breath flowing steadily, they were dreaming of undefined spaces.

Their first encounter with their biological kind was a tale to remember. Two shepherds with their dog stumbled onto them and their wolf mother, the Lupa. Four bipeds, and two quadrupeds. An almost symmetrical composition, and yet diametrically opposed. The shepherds tried to kill the Lupa, the very own Mother of Remuza & Romulusa. Their unleashed domesticated dog, forced to attack, was barking at them, the saliva dripping of its bare fangs. If the two siblings already witnessed the violence of the hunt, part of the natural cycle of the wildlife, this seemingly unreasonable attack was beyond comprehension. They could not understand the underlying reasons opposing the humans and their dog to the wolves, the quarrel, old as time, opposing the wild to the domestic. For Remuza & Romulusa, the shepherds’ sight reminded them of their early years, and of the tragedy that forced them into exile. The dog was now running towards them at high speed, the disformed howls coming out of its maw only matched by the violent screams of the shepherds, threatening them from the back with their manufactured javelins. Jumping in front of their mother, the siblings desperately screamed with one voice the name of the deity Tibernus, instinctively remembering how they were once saved by the water. Echoing from the depth of the nearby river, an overwhelming sound of crashing waves blast, and the fangs and claws of the dogs, alongside the shepherds’ javelins, turned into water. Astonished by the display of elemental power the twins had just performed, the shepherds fell to their knees, begging for mercy.

“Rise and quit weeping. We have not attacked you, we embrace the potentiality of our coexistence, and so will you from now on. Only the futurity matters, the past is the origin, and the present is only a motion towards.” said the twins.

The water took form again, and the fangs and claws of the dog reappeared, so did the javelins. The shepherds did not try another attack. Mesmerized by the fluid presence of the twins, they went back to their herd downhill, and lived to tell the tale of the water deities Remuza & Romulusa, children of the Lupa.

Running, flowing, appearing, and disappearing, the streets of the city seemed like the ever-expanding roots of an old oak. If one would blink, the alleyways could have changed directions. Open spaces became narrow streets in a flash. The inhabitants of Rome seemed undisturbed by such an unstable environment. They would walk, stop, dance, laugh, fuck, fuck again, sleep, run and leave, in an eternal organic cabaret. Spaces had no purpose because all was constantly moving, changing, flowing. Some days the streets would appear vertically, or curve around to become loopy bridges. In the cracks of Rome would bloom temporary utopias, orgiastic ephemeral moments intensely burning before disappearing into ashes.

Tongue licking tongue licking cock penetrating ass, the hands always hold on to something, dancing in the dark and in the light; the flesh melts as the holes get filled, no orifice left open by the ever-sliding cocks fingers wetting pussies licked by mouth to mouth to ass to cock; the massed bodies would become fluttering flesh monsters casting their gorgeous shadows on the moving walls of Rome.
Since the now legendary event of the twins and the shepherds, decades have passed. Remuza and Romulusa grew into adulthood. Their bodies developed in different shapes, Remuza became a strong solar creature while Romulusa became a fascinating long and thin being of the dark. Their mutual completion was perfect. Since the now legendary event of the twins and the shepherds, the twins created the un-bordered city of Rome. An organic space in perpetual creation/de-creation where hundreds of species would thrive together. Cultures would born and die and rebirth.

Its un-bordered and undefined nature was glitching the map, all worldly scholars struggling to archive its existence in any way. The European history that followed this oneiric timeline was one marked by fluidity. No idea was resisting the relentless waves of change, all shapes were welcomed in the organic matrix, only to then disappear. If imperialism had been dreamed of by some, the stillness it required could never exist within the tidal reality.

Echoing from the depth of a nearby river, an overwhelming sound of crashing waves blasts. Reverbing in a whisper, the names of Remuza and Romulusa repeat, endlessly, unfolding their inexistence to the ears of the one who hears.

They would walk, stop, dance, laugh, fuck, fuck again, sleep, run and leave, in an eternal organic cabaret.

Concept: SasaHara
Text: SasaHara
Drag: SasaHara
Models: SasaHara, Barros
Photography: Harmen Meinsma
Styling: Yvana Muradin, SasaHara
Make-up: Minou Meijers, SasaHara
Hair: Ed Tijsen, SasaHara
Collage: Luca Barbieri