Marieke Rijneveld is now Marijn Rijneveld

I’m happy to address Marieke Rijneveld as a he, but it would at least help if it were Maarten or even Marijn Rijneveld.

I don’t need to see a dick; just like the generation to which she belongs, I am easily satisfied. In the old days, you had to have a change of actual gender, what a misery, especially for women who wanted to become men – as a plastic surgeon, just try to make a working cock, it’s a nightmare. With a cunt, you can make a small hole and make some makeshift labia around it, but how do you make one of those prancing mushrooms?

So no, what a hassle, while you can also just change the form of address. But laziness is one thing, laziness we all wallow in like patronised pigs, but using the ‘he’ form for the name Marieke, no, I demand at least the dastardly name Marijn.

Saint Marijn, if nothing else, because since Pukkelkop & Co (1)have been busy conquering the British market, there had to be a prize, and Marijn has taken a good look at Reve and can write quite well. But when he is portrayed in the media as some sort of drugged-out saint – a kind of walking advertisement for Big Pharma – then you are more or less bound up with a kind of pity factor, which is a shame because, as a writer, you shouldn’t need that, just as a writer doesn’t necessarily need a dick.

Please kill me

Marijn called me once when I posted a cry for help on Facebook. So he does know me, although he’s too famous by now to admit it. It was a very nice conversation, with a tail end, though. Marijn had a fantasy that he would be killed and buried by me and I did not go along with that fantasy, to the disappointment of the other side. I had better things to do than fantasies like that at the time, and besides, I don’t really see how such uplifting fantasies would help a depressed person.

My message was never that Marijn cannot write. He can write quite well, but his poetry is substandard and the role of the saint is ridiculous and seems like a disguised sense of guilt. When you completely screw up the youth with pharmaceutical drugs, such a symbolic heroic role is perhaps the indulgence you need as the pimple-faced junta. Fine by me, but I think the youth can use better examples than Marijn, smiling heavily drugged on the tube.

The dictator and the dollhouse 

No, he’s not my hero and I don’t think he ever will be. But that also goes for Reve, and Hermans, and Gorter, so the whole series of saints is just not my cup of tea. But although my true favor might be unattainable, the change of name to ‘Marijn’ may be my small contribution to undermining this extremely tender boy’s soul

(1)The allusion here is to a certain literary agency that once for almost an hour briefed me about how Menno Wigmans eyebrows made him unfit for Dutch television. To hear this from someone whose appearance is by any means quite far from perfect is – how should I put this? It’s good in a psychoanalyst(2) sort of way. So no, no bullying points here for the hidden master-victims! 

(2)As I work on the Psychosupersum anyway let me put a name to this phenomenon: I call it the ‘Dictator and the Dollhouse’ syndrome. It is an attempt to recreate ones own traumatized youth using the world as a perfect dollhouse, in order to avenge oneself. All these pretty writers and their supposed popularity with boomers are in reality a horrorshow(3) by a traumatized dictator.

(3) A critical audience will demand evidence for such assertions. Allright – here’s the ‘Our Kind of People‘ a briliant series that depicts this horror reality in all its gruesomeness by André Keikes…