Anti Oedipus: Anarchism and Schizophonia
DB Indoš, Tanja Vrvilo
Anti Oedipus, a music spring machine, produces several regimes of separation and connection – diagrammatic (from the line of flight to apartheid wall and penetrated wall), schizophonic (persecution of external sound by the other sound in the headphones), territorial (diagonal occupations and decolonization of country and scene), transtextual (pseudo-translation of original text in the headphones by simultaneous live performing of another text), transvisual (editing of hybrid filmscape depicting world in war and world in solidarity), anachronical (deterritorializations of Anti Oedipus from occupied West Bank to the free territory of anarchy, traveling by bicycle from Graz to the short summer in Catalonia), metamobile (false movements within limiting spaces as the smooth spaces of freedom). Anti Oedipus, sliding and springing, connects several forms of becoming: anarchist-syndicalist Durutti, antiwar volunteer Weil, philosophers of desire Deleuze and Guattari, anti-colonial poet Linton Kwesi Johnson, anarcho-architect Weizman, anarchists against the wall, exilic bicyclist Martin Plajh; constructing relations of dehierarchization of soundscapes produced within music and film machines and their external sensors. The diverse politics of experience – poetic-philosophical, pseudo-documentary, bodily, music, mediating – achronically assemble the insurrection against the force that transforms a man into thing, freedom into coercion, idea of solidarity into the idea of enemy, and anarchy into schizophony.
Production: DB Indoš / House of Extreme Music Theatre
Postproduction – Teatar ITD, Culture of Change SC, N.O. JAZZ festival
Authors: Damir Bartol Indoš, Tanja Vrvilo
Performed by: Damir Bartol Indoš, Tanja Vrvilo, Anti-chorus collective: Nikolina Majdak, Adriana Josipović, Darko Jeftić, Kate Marušić, Mirta Jurilj (violoncello)
Rhythmical Psychedelic Archestra: Nino Prišuta, Miro Manojlović, Miroslav Piškulić, Nenad Borović
Agit films: Miro Manojlović
English translation: Vedran Pavlić
Photos: Ratko Mavar,
Damir Žižić
Video by: Lovro
Čepelak, Velimir Rodić, Željka Kovačević
Collaborator on the project: Ivana Sansević
Sources: H. M. Enzenberger: Der kurze Sommer der Anarchie; G. Deleuze/F. Guattari: Anti-Oedipus, Capitalism and Schizophrenia,
A Thousand Plateaus, Capitalism and Schizophrenia; G. Deleuze/C. Parnet: L'Abécédaire, D for Desire; G. Deleuze: Postscripts on the Societies of Control; Simone Weil: Notes of a War Volunteer, Iliad or Poem of Force, Letters form
Spanish Civil War; Španija 1936-1939. Zbornik sjećanja jugoslavenskih dobrovoljaca u španskom ratu /Spain 1936-1939. Miscellany of Recollections by Yugoslav Volunteers in Spanish War; Homer: Iliad; Eyal Weizman: Hollow Land Seeing through Walls: The Split Sovereign and the One-Way Mirror; Kodwo Eshun: More Brilliant then the Sun; Linton Kwesi Johnson: Selected Poems; R.W.Fassbinder:Anarchie in Bayern; Carole Roussopoulos, Valerie Solanas: SCUM Manifesto, Sophocles; P.P. Pasolini: Edipo re, Jean Rouch: Les Maîtres Fous; Rudi Dutschke: Bibliographie des revolutionaren Sozialismus.
The performance was co-funded by the Department of Culture, City of Zagreb, and the Croatian Ministry of Culture
ANTI OEDIPUS photos
TEXTS
Apartheid
wall
If moles are the
animals in places of confinement,
control societies have
their snakes.
We've gone from one
animal to the other.
A snake's coils are
more intricate than a mole's burrow.
13:50 A truck with
olive tree growers from the suburbs of Tulkarem
approaches the south
passage.
Surveillance
camera on the wall records approach to the south checkpoint.
14:44 A truck arrives
at the checkpoint. Olive orchards are in Beit Lid.
But, olive tree growers
can't pass through.
A
driver talks to the soldiers to convince them to let them pass
trought.
A
ditch 1.80 wide 2.40 deep impedes vehicle crossings.
14:50 The bus arrives
at the checking booth. IDs are checked.
Five women with
children are from Nablus and have to leave the bus.
Balls
of rolled barbed wire 1.80 tall extend along the wall.
14:59
Women and children get a taxi to go back to the west.
The truck still tries
to go through. Olive tree growers are standing around,
the driver goes from
one soldier to the other to ask for help.
The
electronic sensors detect all atempts of
encroachment across the concrete wall.
15:10 All strangers
between the ages of 16 and 30 who are residents of Tulkarem,
Nablus, Jenin and the
surrounding villages, are not allowed southward.
Dirt road for army
patrols, paved road for border police.
15:37 The truck turns
back to the west.
Fine sand to preserve
footprints.
Imagine a town where
anyone can leave their flat, street, neighborhood,
using their card that
opens this or that barrier. But the card may also be rejected on
a particular day, or
between certain times of day.
It doesn't depend on
the barrier but on the sensor that is making sure
everyone is in a
permissible place and effecting a universal modulation.
Seven Durruti's
deaths / Five Nights of Bleeding
For some reason or
because of mistake two orchestras have been ordered for the same
song.
One plays silently,
another one loudly.
They
don't keep the same rhythm. They start from the beginning, and
several more times,
and then they stop
trying to come together.
You
can see raised fists everywhere.
Finally,
the music stops, fists go down and you can hear only the murmur of
the crowd
in the middle of which
is Durruti.
Next to the flags of
the anarchists there are the colours of all antifascist groups.
Cars search for the
exit by driving backwards. The crowd doesn't move, it occupies whole
cemetery.
The night is falling.
Durruti will be burried the next day.
1
Anarchy
anarchy
Below the glass window a face in the white scarf
On the hearse a flag
red and black
Durruti is calling you
to enter
Durruti is calling you
to come
His funeral becomes
demonstrations
By
death becomes legend
And death betrayal
Still with fist raised
The short summer of
anarchy
2
On the other side
University clinic
The building with seven
floors
The enemy has conquered
the upper ones
and our people the
lower ones
When the enemy saw a
kilometer away
a car which was stopped
they waited for the
passanger to leave
and
then fired the shots which wounded him
mortally
Still with the fist
raised
The short summer of
anarchy
3
Durruti's driver told
me
After lunch we went to
the frontline
We came to the
crossroads
Towards a group of
fighters
He came out and ordered them to return
Reddish clinic was in
front of us
We heard the bullet
when he fell
We put him to lay on
the back seat, he was hit in the chest
I drove to lazaret, the
rest you know
Still with the fist
raised
The short summer of
anarchy
4
How he died
How did that happened
Convinced that it was
an assassination
Policeman shot him from
a high window
But, if not, who killed
him
One of those who were
standing next to him
It was an act of
revenge
A year
after death
The exhibition was
opened
There was a shirt
which he wore on the
day of his death
It was lying in a glass
case
A hole, a hole of
gunpowder
5
Naranjero is an awful
gun
an orange tree
On the afternoon of the
19th a messanger came from the frontlines
Clinic. Red clinic.
Fell to the enemy
We stopped.
In front, at the wheel,
driver Julio, next to him, Durruti
He took his zbrojovka
naranjero
Open the door, hit the
floor of the car with naranjero
A
bullet hit him in the chest, real
shot-through
orange tree
No-one wanted to tell
the truth
Still with fist raised
The short summer of
anarchy
6
After the debacle of
anarchists on Gabaritas hill
Durruti fell at the
front
Shot
from behind
It was belived he was
killed
by
Durruti’s friends
or
communists
or a stray
bullet from Franco’s trenches
Yes, I had some
suspicions
his friends
finally said
that it was an accident
These were his
comrades, why would they lie
Still with fist raised
The short summer of
anarchy
Why
don’t we search for watermelons / Want fi Goh Rave
Tuesday, 18 of August
Getting up at half past
two in the morning. My backpack is already ready.
Fear because of the
glasses. Dividing the load: for me, maps and dishes.
Silent march. We cross
the river in two steps. Waiting. The German will make us soup.
I stay and mind the
soup. In the meantime, others approach the house.
There they find a
family. A seventeen-year-old son – handsome!
Order: everbody back,
take the peasant's family as well.
The
German, we transformed him into the
cook, curses: no salt, no oil, no vegetables.
The comrades return.
Peasant and his son. Fontana greets with raised hand,
looking
at the youngster. They greet him back. The
youngster returns the greeting back because there is nothing else.
Cruel coercions.
Monday
17 of
August
By car in
the morning
Young
driver with his dear next to him
Order:
Everybody
to the cornfield
We escape
to shelter
I throw
myself into the mud
They give
me a gun
Short
carbine
I shoot up
Rest
Through
the bush
Heat, some
fear
Why don’t
we look for watermelons
Monday
17 of
August
By car in
the morning
Young
driver has his dear next to him
Search:
Quickly
over the river
One
cadaver, blue, swollen
Burnt,
others keep looking
And what,
it is about burning
Three
enemy cadavers
Rest
Through
the bush
Heat, some
fear
Why don’t
we look for the watermelons
Monday
17 of
August
By car in
the morning
Young
driver has a dear next to him
Waiting:
Grueling
tension
We sleep
on straw
Boots in
the corner, good ceiling
We scream
at sanitary official
He wants
to turn the light of
For the
first time I felt afraid
Rest
Through
the bush
Heat, some
fear
Why don’t
we look for watermelons
Seeing
through walls / Matin Plajh to Lyon
by bicycle
In Graz, where I was
living as an emigrant, I made a deal with an Austrian man to go to
Spain together. We have decided to go by bicycle and to meet on
August 23, 1937, at a certain spot.
I didn't find him at
the place which we agreed upon, so I decided to go alone by bike.
I travelled via Leoben
to Kalvang, where I stayed for a night at a villager's hayloft. I
countinued, via Roteman and Pongau (near Salzburg), spending the
nights at haylofts. On the fourth day I reached Johberg (Tirol). On
fifth day I reached Insbruck. It rained every day. I was wet.
Finally, I arrived at the border crossing station Schlackhof on the
river Inn. I decided to wait until dark to cross the river with the
bicycle on my shoulder. I took off my shoes and trousers, and started
towards the stream. However, it was too deep and too swift, so I had
to give up. I swiftly put the bicycle on ma shoulder, crossed the
bridge, and then started towards Martinsbruck, where there is Swiss
border crossing station.
Something is still bothering us: the story of Oedipus.
The first part is imperial, despotic, paranoid, divinatory.
But the second part is wandering, Oedipus’ line of flight,
the double turning away of his own face and that of God.
Rather then borders to be crossed in order,
or which one does not have the right to cross – hybris,
there is a secret border.
Oedipus passes through all three secrets.
The perception of the secret must be secret itself:
surveillance is not less secretive
then what they are in a position to disclose.
There is always a perception finer then yours,
a perception of what is in your box.
A secret society commands its members
to swim in society as fish in water,
but society must be like water around fish.
His name is Atheos,
he wanders and survives on positive line of separation.
The outcome is no longer murder or sudden death
but survival under reprieve, unlimited
postponement.
When
I arrived to the village, a man in uniform came from a house. He
looked at me, but didn't say anything, he was probably a postman. I
climbed on my bicycle, and left as quickly as possibly. At the end of
the village there was a crossroads with signposts. On the left, there
was a road to St. Morritz, and on the right, to Davos via Fiel. I
decided to head towards Davos. After walking for 17 kilometers on
foot, I arrived at seven in the morning to the Fiel summit (2883 m).
At
the end, I belived that, after all this difficult and hard walking, I
will rest a bit by cycling downhill. However, I had to walk again
because the brakes broke. In one village I bought for three francs a
liter of warm milk and some bread, and the I went to a small glade,
away from the road, where I lay down and soon fell asleep. I woke up
in late afternoon and immediately got on my bike. Around three in the
afternoon I reached the suburbs of Zurich and saw a police officer
for the first time. It was Saturday. Next day it was Sunday, so I
immediately left via Baden-Brid
to
Basel. I arrived in Basel at around 10 in the morning and found a
union. They recommended for me to go immediately to Jura, where it
might be easier to cross into France. I waited until dark, and then
put my bicycle on the shoulder and started. So I came to a glade with
a border marker. I left quickly so the border police woudn't find me.
Before entering Bezanson, I shaved, washed myself and cleaned the
suit in a stream. I spend the night in a haystack. I slept there
better then if I were in the finest hotel.
According to
the Article X, incoming Palestinians would not
see the
Israeli security personnel, they would see only
a Palestinian
policeman and a raised Palestinian flag.
A control
point stands in front of one of several one-way mirrors
facing the
incoming passengers hall.
Late in the
afternoons, when sunlight fell through the outside window of the
control room facing west, the light level between the control room
and the now darkened hall, rendered almost equal by the setting
sun, made the one-way mirror just transparent enough to expose
the silhouette of the Israeli security agents and with it the
designed charade of prosthetic sovereignty.
Next morning I reached
a suburb of Lyon. I asked a worker where the unemployment
office is located. He
wanted to know about the situation in Austria, and I said
to him that the
clerical fascism is rulling the country. He shook his head and gave
me
an
address in a street which I forgot. I left my bicycle in a courtyard,
climbed to the first floor, where everyone greeted me with: Bonjour
Comrade! On the third day they told us to prepare for departure. We
were driven to a vineyard at the foot of the Pyrenees and there we
exited the bus. We were all given a pair of Spanish espadrilles so we
could move more silently. When we reached the last mountain crossing
the guides warned us to be completely silent, because below us there
was a stream which represented the border between France and Spain.
We reached Figeras on September 7, 1937, around four o'clock in the
afternoon.
This, that / Time
Come
The hero
of the Iliad is force.
Force
employed by man, force that enslaves man,
force that
erases man’s flesh.
The spirit
blinded by the force it imagined it could handle.
That X
that turns anybody into a thing.
It makes a
corpse out of him.
Somebody
was here, and the next minute there is nobody here at all.
The hero
becomes a thing dragged behind a chariot in the dust.
ALL
AROUND,
HIS BLACK
HAIR WAS SPREAD.
IN THE
DUST HIS WHOLE HEAD LAY.
We see it
in its grossest form, the form that kills.
How much
more surprising is the other force, the force that does not kill,
or that
does not kill just yet.
It will
surely kill, it will possibly kill, or perhaps it merely hangs,
poised and
ready, over the head of the creature it can kill,
at
any moment, which is to say at every moment.
It turns
man into stone.
NOTHING IS
WORTH MY LIFE, NOT ALL THE GOODS
NOTHING IS
WORTH MY LIFE, NOT ALL THE GOODS
A MAN CAN
CAPTURE STEERS AND FATTED SHEEP
BUT, ONCE
GONE, THE SOUL CANNOT BE CAPTURED BACK.
This that
This that
Here! There! Here!
Where is the enemy?
On the edge of field of
vision
Spot on window
Shadow behind the
barricades
This that
This that
Here! There! Here!
Stature high
Hair chestnut
Face longish
Eyes blue-gray
nose, mouth shapely
Distinguishing marks
none, capability capable
Here! There! Here!
This that
This that
Is
di shadow in trench behind you
Is
I stan-up rite before you
Here!
One dead
That's all
Occupation, factory
worker
That's all
Loyal and confidential
That's all
Of good behaviour
That's all
Unit infantry
That's all
Military service number
21102
And that's all
Bequest old leather
jacket
Khaki pants, shoes with
holes
Two pistols, binoculars
Sunglasses
There!
One dead
And that's all
Sounds
in trench / Sonny's Lettah
What could
it mean that we dream of ossuary?
What is
the place for desire?
Where is
my desire headed,
passing
through a pile of bones?
Is my
desire following the herd?
What is my
position in relation to the herd?
Am I a
part of herd, am I outside of it,
or in its
center?
Creating
assemblages, constructing the relations,
all of
that shapes desire.
That is
Anti-Oedipus.
Jack
Freeman
International
Brigade
Abraham
Lincoln
October
22, Aragon
Dear mama,
How are
you?
In one or
two days
I’ll
write again to you,
I am still
bodily
and
mentally good.
Mama,
The most
important thing
about
these war sounds
is never
to worry
about a
bullet you hear.
Bullet
travels much faster than sound,
it’s way
past you by the time you hear it.
Mama,
Comrades
explained the sounds to me
Bullet
near you sounds more like
a whine
then a whistle
but in the
distance
more like
a whistle.
I would
duck in the trench
When
anything whizzed, whistled, buzzed
You can’t
duck the first burst
Ricochet
buzzes
when
it hits the ground
or rock or
something
and
bounces off
and you
can get out of the rest of the burst
The same
goes for artillery
Trench
mortars and heavy stuff
Trench
mortars like fat cans
The barrel
points straight up
And the
shells go into the air
You look
if they’re going
to your
left or right,
But if
they’re coming directly
There’s
nothing to do but hope.
They
whistle for a long time
That
increases the agony.
Mama,
Bullet
travels much faster than sound,
Mama,
it’s way
past you by the time you hear it.
Between
ours theirs lines
Between
two wheels
Trench
mortars against the runners
When I
hear them whistling
I drop to
be out of any
shrapnel
or flying bits of shell.
Once the
whistle is behind me
I know I’m
safe.
Mama,
Bullet
travels much faster than sound,
it’s way
past you by the time you hear it.
When I
hear the whistling
the sounds
reach a high point
Whistling
away from me
When the
whistle approaches
comes
overhead
waiting is
hard
waiting
for it to quiet down
but it’s
coming louder
and crash
and dirt.
Mama,
As it’s
put out here:
You’ll
never hear the slug
that gets
you.
This is my
education
of the
tenth day in the trench.
Mama,
Six months
after
leaving home
Five in
Spain
Be of good
courage
Till I
hear from you.
Hasta
La vista
Jack.
Walking
through walls
We never
left the buildings and progressed entirely between their homes.
We carved
several dozen routes from outside the town into its centre.
We were,
all twelve of us, inside their homes, no one was in the streets,
we hardly
ventured out.
We had our
offices and sleeping encampments in these buildings,
even our
vehicle was placed in carved out area within homes.
We studied
an aerial photograph to find a wall connecting the house we were in
with the
house to its south.
I took the
hammer and started working, but the wall wouldn’t break.
For the
first time we faced the wall that was built of concrete rather then
of cinder blocks.
We
detonated at least four blocks
until the
hole became big enough to go through.
We sprayed
on the wall:
ENTRANCE,
EXIT, DO NOT ENTER, WAY TO, WAY FROM, SOUTH
in order
to regulate the traffic and to find way back through the labyrinth
we carved
out through the city.
More then
half of the buildings in the Nablus had routes, from one to twelve
openings
in the walls, floors or ceilings,
chaotic
manoeuvre without clear direction.
Imagine
it, I’m sitting in my room, which I know so well:
this is
room where I play violoncello every day.
And,
suddenly, that wall disappears with a deafening roar,
the room
fills with dust and debris,
and
through the wall pours one soldier after the other, screaming orders.
You have
no idea if they’re after you, if they’re come to take over your
home,
or if your
house just lies on their route to somewhere else.
Imagine
the horror when four, six, eight, twelve soldiers,
their
faces painted black, submachine guns pointed everywhere,
antennas
protruding from their backpacks, making them look like giant alien
bugs,
blast
their way through that wall?
Pointing
to another wall now covered by a bookcase:
And, this
is where they left. They blew up the wall and continued to our
neighbor’s house.
What
is happening with Solidarios / Mi Revalueshanary Fren
We are all
terribly tired, it was a very hard day.
I would
now like to summarize the conclusions.
Subject
money: abolished.
Subject
marriage: abolished.
Everything
is free.
The
subject of prison and penitentiary system: abolished
“Das
Elend der Philosophie”, um das noch hinzuzufügen, expliziert in
der auseinandersetzung mit Proudhons “Philosophie des Elends” die
materialistisch gewendete Dialektik im Gegensatz zur idealistischen
Kategoriendialektik Proudhons.
Die
literaturgeschichtliche Darstellung der Probleme der Nationalökonomie
von ihrer “klassischen” Begründung an, zeigt sich als
Problemgeschichte der antagonistischen Gesellschaft.
The life
in this society is pure boredom. No aspect of that society concerns
women. The man is responsible for money, marriage and prostitution,
for work and for the automatization of society. There is no human
reason for money and work. For women in civil spirit, for responsible
women, for adventurous women, there is nothing left but to overthrow
the government, to eliminate the monetary system, to establish
complete automatization.
Everyone
has a possibility to freely exit FAB or to enter FAB.
Universities
are accessible to everyone.
Hospitals
are accessible to everyone.
All laws,
decrees and orders are abolished.
Ohne der
ketzerischen These von Korsch aus dem Jahre 1950, daß Marx “heute
nur einer unter vielen Vorläufern, Begründern und Weiterentwicklern
der sozialistischen Bewegung der Arbeiterklasse ist”, vollständig
zuzustümmen, scheint uns Korsch darin ganz recht zu haben, daß die
historischen Alternativen und “Weiterentwicklungen” der Marxschen
Formung des Sozialismus, also die Beiträge der utopischen
Sozialisten, die von Proudhon, Blanqui, Bakunin, den deutschen
Revisionisten, französischen Syndikalisten und den russischen
Bolschewisten…
An den die
I. Internationale sprengenden Auseinandersetzungen zwischen Marx und
Bakunin werden wir das später verdeutlichen.
Read on.
Murder and
specially defined counter-revolution are punished by exile to BRD.
The
institution of church is abolished.
All
“temples” on the FAB territory are hereby ordered to become
museums.
He is
responsible for war. Proving the manhood costs innumerable lives,
including his own. Since his own life is worth nothing, he is more
inclined to disappear in explosion and glory, than to drag around for
fifty years.
Councils
for awakening are being formed.
Do not
become enamored of power!
Yes, anarchists have always readily talked about free love. And they
were Spaniards, after all, and it is ridiculous when Spaniards say
something like that. That is only from the books. Spaniards have
never agreed to the liberation of women. Not at all. I know them by
heart.
One older comrade once told me:
“All is good with that theory of yours, but anarchy is one thing,
and family the other, that’s how it is and that’s how it will
be.”
I have an apron around my waist, I washed dishes and made a dinner. A
friend who came tried to make a joke: “Hey, Durruti, listen, what
you are doing is woman’s job.”
I told him: “Let this be an example for you. If you think that real
anarchist has to sit all the time in a bar or a cafe while his wife
works, that you still haven’t understood anything.”
With Buenaventura I did have more luck. He wasn’t as backward as
the others. But he did know with whom he has to deal with!
What
is happening with the Solidarios?
There
were twelve of them:
Sunday, 16 of August
Durutti: I am a worker, just like you
when this ends, I’ll work in a factory
Is there hatred against the rich?
Even more among the poor
Won’t it be bad for the joint effort?
There will be no more inequality
Ramona
Weaver
Euzebio
Blacksmith
Julija
Cook
Migel
Docker
Marija
Modist
Solidarios
Anarchists
That was an era of self-defense
from white terror:
One: will everyone work equally?
Who will not work will have to be forced
Who doesn’t work will not get to eat
Second: how did they live before?
Work by day and night, bad food
Children work barefoot as day laborers
A small girl age fourteen
Works as a washer for two years
Twenty pesetas for twenty year old
Two pesetas for own declassment
One doesn’t want to get separated from his friend,
The other wants to return the weapons:
Antonio
Carpenter
Pepita
Cook
Buenaventura
Locksmith
Simona
Volunteer
Aurelio
Mechanic
Solidarios
Anarchists
If you refer to freedom,
You must have courage to say what you think,
Even if no-one will approve of it –
I don’t like war:
True,
Revolution doesn’t bring higher consciousness,
We see how the forms of pressure develop
Opposite to the libertarian ideal of anarchists
On one side, cynicism, cruelty
On the other, brotherhood, humanism
We have military coercion, class differences
Humiliation, moral decay
I took a train to volunteer
By my free will, I have given up
It was a short summer of anarchy
Should the obligatory military service be discontinued?
Yes, it wouldn’t be bad.
Alfonso
Artistic carpenter
Ramona
Weaver
Rikardo
Textile worker
Pepita
Cook
Migel
House painter
Solidarios
Anarchists
Little international brigade
From all the countries
It captured a fifteen-year-old boy
Who fought for the fascist
He was sent to – Durruti
He spoke to him about the advantages of anarchistic ideals
He gave him a choice: to die
Or to cross to the side of those who captured him
He gave him twenty four hours to think about it
He refused and was shot
The death of that boy kept bothering me
Although I found about it only later
Did they love him? Many say yes.
Why? There is no answer.
Migel
Baker
Julija
Cook
Antonio
Day laborer
Marija
Modist
Oliver
Waiter
Solidarios
Anarchists
What
is going on with the Solidarios?
There
were twelve of them.
Kaydar
E ad to go
Zhivkov
E ad to go
Husack
E ad to go
Honnicka
E ad to go
Chowcheskhu
E ad to go
Jus like Apartied
Soon gaan
GALLERY |
