New Year's Resolutions 2015

It’s a New Year and you’re Right Friends – I’m Crazy and out of Touch with Reality!

For 2015 let VICE CEO Shane Smith remain married to a woman who doesnt want to be on TV news with him, isn’t interested in 3somes with Lindsay Lohan, wouldn’t care to hunt terrorists with guns, has never called him the King of Canada, has no idea how to be a dominatrix.  

For 2015 let the Judge remain an anonymous hypocritical cog of the provincial bureaucracy. He’s not even a Supreme Court Judge. He has never made a difference in this country except to me maybe and let it stay that way. Let him die an old man who never existed outside of my imagination on the internet and never had sex with any much younger women.

For 2015 let the Judge’s son G not reveal himself as a biker gangster. Have him get a job at a gym to pay off his student loans. Have him get married and move to Saanich and ride a fully-dressed motorcycle on weekends and watch internet porn that isn’t mine with his same alcoholic dude friends he’s had since highschool.

For 2015 let Lana Del Rey continue to make insulting sentimental music videos about a make-believe sex-worker and her make-believe gangster boyfriend and sugar daddies. Let her marry that photographer she’s dating who looks like G’s brother and move to Italy and become a washed-up socialite with 3 children.


Andrea Coates who cares


"My Struggle" by Karl Ove Knausgaard. the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo helps anOther Grumpy Old White Man out of his Acclaimed Funk

including! Autobiographical Novelists

Hay L. Enjoying the Karl Ove book. Thought I should send him one of my whacky celebrity letters. He wants to know about the Great Canadian Autobiographer, right? Who was that friend of yours who started chatting with him and where were you guys? England? I thought if I introed the letter with “I am Andrea Coates I am connected to these and these people you met in real life you probably remember because you remember EVERYTHING” he might read the rest of the letter. Or should I make it totally mysterious? It would depend on your willingness to be associated with me in this context, because the letter would be me trying to show off to him how I am also a Serious Brooding Writer of Large Tomes of Weighty Self-Analysis but with a Better Sense of Humor than he’s got and More Guts  - it would be Andrea being kooky to try and counterbalance how very dry and deadpan he is to get him to admire me in my different style, which would only maybe work, but whether successful or not it’s what I like to do in my letters to celebrities, they never answer but I get a lot of fun out of trying to shock them and affect them subconsciously. You get what I mean about you having the choice of being referenced by me, who has major stalker tendencies I wouldn’t want you to be accessory to unfairly, or helping me track down his email from your friend so I can stalk him. Of course you’re the one who gave me his book knowing he’s exactly the kind of Writer Ego I would confront with my Writer Ego. We talked about the Writer Egos being highly competitive with one another: I feel compelled to try and impress or outdo him simply because he exists and is writing large complex novels like I like to write. Otherwise – if you do/don’t want to help me get his email – I will put the letter on my website and call it a review. 


Dear Karl Ove

My name is Andrea Coates. You met my cousin, L, at a book sellers meeting? In England? You talked to her friend ? about Norwegian Film? an obscurity for a Canadian. You probably remember because you seem to remember everything. You Sir are the Great Scandinavian Man Autobiographer, that much is clear to us Snobs; meanwhile I am the Great Canadian Woman Autobiographer, the Snobs haven’t found me, I am young and female and ostensibly delusional. I think I am World’s Greatest Whore who writes Novels for Fun, Pornstar Queen of Canada, Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Biker Gangster Bitche Boo Boo Bam Bam LLWAM Mistre$$ to the Stars. It’s cause I was raped by a Judge. Thats the Origin Story for my Goth-Hooker Cartoon Showoff. Turned me into a nymphomaniacal man-bashing feminist outlaw with high-self esteem. I would straight-up suggest we have sex Karl, I could tell you so much about how that would be good for your literary career and other things ( like your fucking scowl! ), but you’re married and I don’t know what that means to you. I found this on Wikipedia: “In a radio interview with his estranged ex-wife, Tonje Aursland, who plays a central part in several of the Min Kamp books, Knausgård admits that he sometimes feels that he has made a ‘Faustian bargain’— that he has achieved enormous success by sacrificing his relationships with friends and members of his family.” Hahahahhahahah yeah Karl Ove that’s how it goes. Kill your darlings. I’m hard on the wives Karl, but don’t blame me the Big Man only wants a little girlie like me insofaras he already has his wife and children. How’s my timing? Important to A Comedian. Without the wife to pick up the slack a woman like me will eat you up and shit you out. No kidding. You could tell that to your wife when you bring up this fan letter. She’s a writer which might make it harder but you made a Faustian Bargain to get your great book success Karl Ove and the Devil sent his very scaryiest harpy to make good on the debt, which is actually exactly right, and how our thing works. My cousin L, who knows what kinds of books I like and the size of my literary ego, gave me a copy of Min Kamp, Book 1, A Death in the Family, with your Naziass face on it. I put a rainbow heart sticker between your eyes cause your serious novelist mugshot was giving me the creeps dude. So far in your Epic Struggle you’re an average middle-class teenager in a lousy band and right now in the zillionth edit of mine ( first chapters of a multi-volume philosophical semi-fictional memoir titled SplendidinSanity here soso on the internet ) I am in a middle-class teenager in a successful street gang. I’m sorry for what I said about your marriage. The leader of the drug gang was the Judge’s son. He taught me how to be a prostitute for his dad and now I project them onto everyone, seek gangsters and old men to fight and occasional sex with, instead of other perhaps more lucrative endevours. I want to be a great novelist but being a hooker in a death cult is all I have to write a great novel about. I couldn’t make up a story more ridickulous than what has actually happened to me Karl. You were a pretty average kid Karl. That you’re such an astute makes up for the lack of plot in your life ‘novel’. My life meanwhile has never lacked for narrative thrust. I took recreational drugs and grew up to be a sex-worker for the Hell’s Angels, let that be a lesson to your kids. One way to look at it. Another way to look at it is I was so badly emotionally-scarred by dating a teen sociopath I made up a story about his mean dad touching me to teach his stuck-up family a lesson about neglecting your mistress ( never a good idea Karl ). What’s the other way we can look at Min Kamp Karl? On one hand being a talented Norwegian writer is so banal, on the other hand what a great book! Aw, poor Karl Ove. If you care about where the novel is headed do read about him and his dad struggling through their contemporary functionality.
uhhhh I'm Karl Ove I'm so Aesthetically Tormented in my Isolated Nordic Man Genius but why??????????
how to be the Great Artist hrrrrm maybe if I transcribe everything in Painstaking Detail mmmmrrr struggle maybe I have Emotions hrrrrrrrrr but Only from a Distance ffttttthhhhhh ahhhhhhh the Distance between my Brain and my Penis hkkkrmmm or my Cigarette and my Mouth ahemhemhem or me and my Dad hahahahahaha there's another 20 Pages of Classic Patriarchal White-Supremacist Literature Honey Bacon splaat sizzle and fry
P 157 describes you perfectly about a gf's dad: “Laconic? I said. It’s hard to describe. A bit dry and matter-of-fact, perhaps exaggeratedly matter-of-fact, I said. Sort of understated.” Yes indeed Karl Ove and the 3500 pages go on like that is my guess. Good eating. How does it sound in Norwegian? Garble garble grrrr garble grrr grrr ah. I’m sorry Karl. That was xenophobic. First I threaten your marriage, then I make fun of your language. Do you get? Like what if one day you received a letter. And the letter was so odd you couldn’t think about it, let alone write about it, in the same laconic style you had used to process all the life experiences leading up to the strange letter. Would you ignore such a letter, because it didn’t fit in the emotional constraints you imposed on your life? or would you read the letter as angelic intervention? What would it be like to receive a letter from the female version of you, Great Nordic Writer Man? She could try to mirror your own style back at you, drawnout descriptions of the minutea of days with a small child and partner oooooooooh details, to impress you with how similar we are - I am also deathly bored and trying to immerse myself in what is provided to that end, shall we have an affair so you can write another memoir about how you fucked up another marriage hahahahahahhaha? – or she could try and figure out what excitement is missing from your lengthy self-conscious not-a-plot and provide that instead. now we have a plot!
Help me out Karl, Scandinavia needs a Wakeupcall
Dear Sweden: these are Actually Pictures of Andrea Coates, and her Pimp, G, the Hell's Angles from Canada. therefore u owe but can u pay?
Millennial Generation Indigo BLU Bitche AC HA HA HA
with a stock-character from a barely-believable Noir. La femme fatale. Not a woman who breaks your heart, Karl, unintentionally or intentionally, a genuine back-alley woman with a gun and a loony conspiracy and an impossibly sexy unattainably manipulative streak. A street dominatrix. Not that it’s me necessarily ( it probably is me Karl there aren’t that many granddame of blackleather femme fatale writerfuckers out there Karl ) but your book could use a wise-cracking metalhead lolita tramp, that would finally challenge the growly man protagonist stuck on his perpetual sad boner :( You haven’t had the bestest luck with women have you Karl? But not worse than my luck with men and I think your wife stays by you even if I show up and prattle about your house and tell your children I am a Computer Hacker from a Swedish Mystery Thriller come to Life! to give them Canadian Trinkets on Christmas Ho Ho Ho!

It might be nice if I could talk to you about something other than my curiosity as to whether or not we have hot sex but that would be dishonest. Everyone who is anyone has sex with me and puts me in their art – Karl Ove. Some people just think about having sex with me and put that in their art – Stieg Larsson. Some people – Lana Del Rey – think they are me but without the sex! Knausgaard believes that to create literature of lasting value, a writer must try to carve out a freedom from the strictures of society, to stand outside the realm where consideration comes before honesty. I agree wholeheartedly Karl. That quote’s from an essay about how much guilt you feel for exposing your friends and family as you remember them. I don’t feel guilt about rendering my friends and family as they have been and are. Maybe they’ll go after me like people went after you but my family has never done wrong by anyone and my superficial friends abandoned me cause they cant handle themselves. Tant pis. They know I’ve been writing a novel about them, they know I have a blog journal, but they don’t read it because they don’t want to see themselves through my eyes, that would mean dropping their bourgeois shtick for the revolution I have planned, a much bigger commitment than a mere tirade about reputations or privacy. Being a Great Artist almost unequivocally means you are stealing from the lives of those less talented than you for to give their lives greater significance than they would otherwise have and being honest about it is your only defense, like I’m so honest people pretend I don’t exist Karl, which allows me to sneak into back rooms and spy on liars. Maybe you too – pretend this letter doest exist because it’s so sincere in its confessions: there’s no way Karl you can appreciate me as a Great Writer, which I am have you noticed? without appreciating me as a harlot who writes well. It’s not clear where a person goes, Geir [ Karl’s Friend ] remarks, when “everything is fulfilled.” He finds a terrifying incomprehensible much-younger fuck-buddy, a gothique manic pixie dream girl with reassuringly possessive pimps ( otherwise the risk of losing the wife is too great to take for the man who has it all ), and declares himself the King of Norway with a Sword. I know because I’m that woman to every man who thought he had it all. I have the power to turn whole lives upsidedown with singular letters. My mind is a floodlight that can x-ray your soul meanwhile you are blinded. I sound arrogant but I am trying to be accurate to how odd are my relationships to people – I entertain myself by reordering international politics around dudes I maybe want to fuck. I think men who think too much need to be shocked out of it. How do you shock a man who thinks too much? He’s already explained everything away and if you do something shocking he’ll try to rationalize it. Such men are attracted to women with ‘mental illness’, which is merely a projection of their own twisted over-examined emotions onto their women. Your wife is bipolar? See, I think, slut’s wisdom, two writers living together is the worst idea, if they both want to be Great Writers. To the extent they both want to be writers they must live apart. In order for them to live together one sacrifices their talent to the other for them both to be successful, usually the wife for the man. Your writer wife sacrificed to you and you wrote a great book and now your children have money. I live with a multi-media artist named jody franklin who since living alone with me cannot seem to work on much – to be productive in general he belongs in a communal home with others less despotic than myself, I belong on my own, but a visitor and contributer to many lives, including yours I think. The biggest egos go to writing, the most difficult art, and the biggest egos crave the most space and are most jealous of their competitors. Great writers are like big cats Karl. Here I am, the Cougar. I think you are a Snow Leopard.
Yup. A Snow Leopard. 
Otherwise, if it's okay to read your Opus as a long groan for help so you dont die of boredom coloring in the status-quos, I read half one book in your long series of long drawnout boring books about how gloomy are you and your Dead Norwegian Daddy with being normal and middle-class and I’ve decided what you need to do for a mood-booster Karl is reexamine your monogamous marriage bind and take up playing with broadswords or some other big phallicy weapon symbol. Maybe a battle axe. Become Lion Viking Karl Ove!
Dress like a Viking talk like a Viking fuck like a Viking fight like a Viking. Write epic novels about your life and keep your wife and a humble rotation of girlfriends. That’s my therapeutic advice Karl. You don’t even have to pay me, cause Im your friend and friends are expected to perform such um for free. Then your family will forgive you for writing about them and you’ll forgive your dad for dying so weird. How I did that Karl? Pulled a fast one on. Your life is completely different. One moment to the next. You were a morose reclusive man genius and now you’re a Viking Leopard. Who could resist. What you lack Karl Ove is an imagination. What I lack Karl Ove is credibility. Because I am a very high-level prostitute, I am preoccupied with figuring out who I will have sex with before I actually have sex with them. Think about it Karl Ove – if you, or your fictional alter-ego, were a well-trained prostitute setting honey traps on behalf of masters with illuminati world domination ambitions, wouldn’t you devine who are your clients before you met them? I have spent several years on the internet looking for the tell-tale signs a particular person has met me and has engaged in ritualistic sex acts with me. People who have engaged in ritualistic sex acts develop talents and abilities beyond those who have monogamous or even polyamorous relationships. People who have been with me seek me. They drop subtle or not so subtle hints as to their longing for me. Often a ritual sex act with a sacred prostitute is one of the cornerstones of a person's life, it reverberates through time, echoes in their actions and their arts long before I show my hand. I figure out the dynamics of my relationship with someone before the other person figures out I exist. There are dozens of such people most of them world leaders in various fields. I stalk them. I write letters to them, letters that don’t get sent or are tossed out by interns and secretaries – crazy groupie! –and the years go by and the men stay with their wives and at their jobs but I crawl deeper and deeper into their minds I appear mired in gunk with my letters I keep writing, I look at their secret longings while they work at their jobs and fuck their wives.
So it goes Karl Ove. I write them into my novel life as cruel fetishists and confused hypocrites. Painted Penelope at her loom waiting for her Pimp Odysseus to return but he cant until the Bigger Richer Men have had their fill and died. So it goes Karl Ove. And we will kill ourselves with Swords, the Indigo Children. I weave the tapestry and then I untangle it. I give them their fetishes, save their marriages, improve their job titles, clean their lakes. Maybe it sounds arrogant but I’m actually a girl who gets raped a lot. I walk up to Big Man I say hey Big Man you wanna fight and I necessarily lose, if only in the physical dimension. That’s how the men become world leaders. They steal energy and beauty from me, they take it by force, they beat and choke it out of me. I try to help them with their bad moods and their failing marriages and their bullshit careers and take from them what I need in return because if I don’t I will surely die. Knife to the chest Karl Ove and what do you do? Hold a sword under your chin and drive it through your head? So it goes King Karl Ove and your Children will inherit the Fjords.

This may be harsh for you to hear Karl but your Daddy died of an Unfulfiled Mistress Complx. Same thing almost killed the Judge. What your Dad should have had Karl was a steady wife and an occasional mistress. But he couldnt fathom living like that and keeping his Job. So he broke up with his wife and moved in with his mistress, became an alcoholic and drank himself to death. The end. Sad. Dont make the same mistake Karl. Times have changed ma-an and you're a famous writer. I mean Articulate Viking.

Yours Truly


You and People like U
La Reine des Neiges
  • Today
  • Andrea Coates
    Andrea Coates

    On second thought I think Karl should read the letter because I'm pretty sure his dad died of an unfulfilled mistress complex - like he wanted two women but that would have cost him his job so he switched women but that wasnt fulfilling so he drank himself to death. Mistress complexes are inherited. Karl Ove has one. Hense his unshackable discomfort in the 'family-man' role. And is therefore also at risk of going nuts if he doesnt find a suitable arrangement with his wife. At first I thought - ha ha IIt might be hard for him to hear but I dont think he would have written the book unless he was hoping for some sort of insight as to why his dad went crazy and commited suicide.
  • Andrea Coates
    Andrea Coates

    little bit awkward but I always try and figure out what an artist's repressed desires are. Like Tao Lin wants two wives, a dominant and a submissive, Megan Boyle and Marie Calloway. Or Shane Smith is a bisexual with a backwards mistress complex in love with a dominatrix and in a fake marriage to his nanny. Or Lana wants to marry a politician and fuck his gangster brother on the side and covet his dad from afar. Or Lindsay Lohan is a bisexual mistress of mine and Shane Smith's. Or James Franco is a bisexual submissive in love with a transkid dom. It goes on. Most the writers I read are dead or medicore. Karl Ove is neither dead nor mediocre. Lucky him. So its quite possible I'm his mistress. In which case he really wants to read that letter. It's also possible he would reject the idea his dad died because he couldnt maintain a marriage and a mistress and a job, was forced to choose one or the others and couldnt live with either sacrafice, so drank himself to death, and that Karl would subsequently reject the idea that I'm his mistress, in which case I've been rejcted before another day another letter.
  • Andrea Coates
    Andrea Coates

    Like, didnt you tell me he started skyping with your friend? why? what do they talk about? Norwegian film? What's he doing skyping with a Canadian woman he met at a conference who happens to have been encouraged to talk to him by you who is my cousin and I'm the Great Canadian Novelist who is convinced she's the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo from that Other Famous Scandanavian book and a professional mistress who writes to famous men about their secret fantasy affairs? Get where I'm going with this? now I think it's our duty to tell Karl about my blog.

Kal Ove's first published novel
He reads through in the final pages of A Death in the Family and thinks - I wrote this for Dad
Artsy-Fartsy Man falls in Love with 13yo pupil
Uhhuh. Where did that come from Karl, your Dad? What a fucking cliche

Dear Women Generally: if your husband has written a fancy prose novel about a man who resembles himself falling in love with a girl-child your husband is going to fall in love with the first girl-child shows signs of being able to write a fancy prose novel about a man who resembles himself. Please Spare the Children. Take me instead, I'm past 16 and 26 going on 46.


He showed me some pictures by Jock Sturges, they were quite exceptional, I had never seen anything like them, and we selected one, of a long-limbed girl, twelve years old perhaps, or thirteen, standing naked with her back to us and looking across a lake. It was beautiful but also charged, pure but also threatening, and possessed an almost iconic quality. In another magazine there was an advertisement where the writing was white in two blue strips, or boxes; they decided to snatch the idea, but do it in red, and half an hour later Yngve had the cover ready. The publishers were given five different proposals, but were in little doubt, the Sturges one was the best, and the book due to come out in a few months' time bore the young girl on the cover. It was asking for trouble: Sturges was a controversial photographer, his house had been turned upside down by FBI agents, I had read, and searching for his name on the net I found some of the links always led to child pornography sites. Yet I had not seen any photographer reproduce the rich world of childhood in such an impressive way, Sally Mann included. So I was happy about that. Min Kamp, Book 1, p256

Whooooooo is the Young Girl, Karl? What Lake?

You mean this One? In Northern Canada? Me and the Judge and his Son lived on?  Far Ute Av Verden, Dude. Pub.1998. Andrea Coates 10 Years Old

Where some see meaningless coincidencal lakes and faces Karl I see an epic story!

Jesus Christ Creepy Old Man dont you hate it when People read over your Shoulder?

How Many reNowned Books Karl have been written about an Old Man who falls in love with an Adolescent Girl? Comparatively to how Many Famous Books about an Adolescent Girl convinced a Clever Older Man is going to rape her?  

Has Any Publisher or Wife or Psychiatrist ever brought this incongruency up with you, Karl?

I call that Misogyny I think it's a Terrible Crime

The Second Book in your Middle-Class Epic King Karl Ove of Norway is called A Man in Love. I haven’t read it, I would like to ( I would read your shopping lists, Karl, even if they were in Norwegian ), but do I have to? A word like laconic describes not only a man’s whole terse personality and literary style but also how he uses his penis, the latter defines the former. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. One for each book in your Struggle Karl, I don’t care how many times you jump back and forth in time you can joust better than that and better learn if you care to return to the homeland and establish your dynasty. I think when you write a tell-all about your marriage(s) and your wife supports it you’re both giving the A-Okay for any nosy opinionated blogger on the internets to psychoanalyze your sexual dysfunctions. The question is do you have the stomach to read what I, a vicious wit and gold-digging man-thief, have to say about what is going on in the nuclear bed-head? Four kids Karl. That’s a lot of kids. You can either keep having kids Karl or recognize that after a certain point, continuing to impregnate your wife when you’re a literary celebrity ( literary – the most ‘tormented’ of the celebrities Karl ) is a compensation mechanism for how you haven’t figured out how to use your penis for something other than producing heirs, which is another way of saying you’re holding back Karl, and that’s probably because you’re a 6’4” snow-bound bundle of raw emotional neuroses, which is the polite way to say if you didn’t hold back by thinking about those cute innocent babies you would break your wife in half. Awwww. I have observed in my short life: the kind of woman who wants to fuck a postModern Scandinavian as if he were a Mythical Viking has limited interest in being a faithful homemaker and supportive artist after getting fucked, like Karl Ove the postModern Viking wants in a Scandinavian wife after he fucks her, which means he has troubling fucking his wife like a Viking, which is a tragedy for the Scandinavian people, read their sad literature about it. The kind of Present-day women who scheme to love Mythical Vikings become Biker Hookers Karl, like in that other dumb book about me that’s famous where you live. I want you to stay with your wife Karl, for the sake of the kids, and your mental and emotional and physical health and so forth, but if you’re going to be with your wife for the rest of your life you need to deal with your father’s lingering ghost, and he wants to rape a teenage girl Karl, and I don’t think your wife wants to pretend to be a teenage girl getting raped by your dad. But you could ask.

In Book 1, near the end, Yngve is like “Dad is going to sue you” ( instead he dies ) about the release of Ute Av Verden, the Norwegian Critics Prize for Literature debut novel with the pathetically cliché pedophilia motif. In the book Humbert is Henrik and he’s our author Knausgaard’s generation and has parents who resemble Karl’s parents – daddy is an alcoholic. Gosh Karl, if that insensitive patriarchal sploog you wrote won a top prize in my country I would bomb the fucking office. But. My distaste for indulgent man-self-discovery novels about sexy sex sexy teenage girls ( there was one Lolita Karl there doesn’t need to be another ) aside – what I think happened is the real teacher Knausgaard, Daddy, like many decent men, could have used a bit of extra-extra now and then, a side-tail, but his solitary nature and middle-class marriage and job as a teacher and Norwegian cliquishness did not provide him with the opportunity to meet the kind of woman who would have made a suitable mistress. Very few women make suitable mistresses because being a mistress is a thankless job, worse even than the thankless role of wife and mother to an introverted provider-husband and his replacement sons. A mistress is expected to be on call at all times, to know how to keep her mouth shut, to be sexually-talented as the most experienced prostitute ( but not so indiscriminate ). The ideal mistress is an isolated nymphomaniac, which is a tragic contradiction. Real life mistresses are susceptible to drug-abuse. Maybe Daddy Knausgaard wished his dead cousin, mentioned at a party in Book 1, and drunk Daddy cries, that female cousin he got on so well with, were still alive. She would have kept her mouth shut. So shut she asphyxiated. I mean died mysteriously. What Daddy Knausgaard the asocial school-teacher with the traditional mistress complex was exposed to lot of was adolescents. So what I think happened is totally independent of his better mind he started having sexual fantasies about one of the girls he taught, or several, or – even worse – a boy. His guilt is why he’s a lingering ghost. This was obviously a problem so Daddy Knausgaard did what seemed like a reasonable alternative – he started going to parties with colleagues to try and find an adult mistress. But of course this put a strain on his marriage and he and your mother Karl separated. Daddy Knausgaard moved in with the woman, Unni, who maybe would have made a relaxing nip, but the thing about having a mistress complex as opposed to being in the wrong marriage and leaving…the longing is to have two ( or more ) women, a woman to live with and women to visit. Traditional mistress complex is not being polygamous, or being serial-monogamous, or being totally fixated on sex-workers like with the backward mistress complex, which is what the Judge’s son has because he was born out of his dad’s repressed wish for a prostitute mistress. Traditional mistress complex is a bitter pill to swallow for both the wife and the mistress – the man you married wants you to share him with some floozy or the man you like to have sex with sees you as unworthy of marrying. So the emotionally-unselfaware Patriarch Daddy Knausgaard, living with his girlfriend like she was his second wife, got fed-up with life Karl and decided to drink himself to death, which is a shitty way to commit suicide, it takes a really long time, but, silver-lining, gave you something to write a great novel about, eh Karl? Telling himself - at least I didn’t rape a child.

Back to the teenage girl who got caught in the cross-hairs. Mistress complexes are inherited down the patriarchal line, if not biologically than psycho-ecologically. One married man in the family gets it in his loins to seek a thrilling mystery casual sex partner, usually a younger woman. The kind of woman a man fixates on when he is looking for a mistress is different than the kind of woman he desires in a wife – he usually only notices the craving for the mistress-type insofar as he is already married with children, settled into his role as father-figure, or trying to escape the pressure of being a father-figure. In a wife a classically patriarchal man craves a stable companion and proficient mother, in a mistress he craves an exciting she-devil and eerily intuitive apparitionist. A good mistress is hard to find, especially among adult women, who would much rather be your wife – or else you’re out of luck buck. The man with a traditional mistress complex wishes for a mythological being – Unicorn Mistress. A fun sexy younger woman who doesn’t mind being a side-piece to his family life. HA HA HA. Men with mistress complexes settle – they settle for stupid impoverished young women they think they can control with their superior intellects and advanced age and secure finances, for anonymous prostitutes they pay money, for lost broken or experimental-polyamorous-phase girls needing apartments, or for a child they can condition to behave like the Unicorn Mistress in their mind, and the latter Lolita is the most appealing option, the more narcissistic, selfish, and tasteful the man the moreso he will project Unicorn Mistress onto an unformed and vulnerable being, a proximal nymphet, whose personality will bloom around his dreams of fucking her as if she were an adult charming compliant devoted containably dangerous convenience prostitute, and this is what happened to me, Karl – I am Miriam, or what might have become of little Miriam if that had ever crossed your man-brain when you wrote your stupid book Karl. back with a vengeance – the innocent teenage girl used in the inappropriate but ‘merely imaginary’ wank fantasy of a much older and more powerful man – in my case my boyfriend’s dad the Judge. Now I’m darned if I cant act like a charming compliant devoted containably dangerous convenience prostitute to much older men, even though that isn’t my personality or my sexual desires at all! I’m an aggressive, ambitious, opinionated artist who wishes she was married to the boy who took her virginity, the Judge’s son. The point here Karl is that when you ‘make up’ stories about ‘fictional’ people or think about having sex with ‘real’ people even if you don’t do it you’re still affecting the behavior of people who resemble your fictions, their mental emotional and physical reality. In that sense Karl, I am Miriam. Your literary student you want to fondle is so happy to see you again and the airport!

But really Karl. What happens to Miriam? After the scene at the airport? What if, at twenty, or twenty-six, or older, if she tracks Henrik down and finds he's married? What if he becomes a famous married writer! What's he going to say to her Karl? What's she expected to do? get herself a boyfriend her own age? Ye ever think about that Karl?

Wikipedia: The third book also contains a story within a story – a long science fiction-like dream sequence, told in the second person. Here Henrik wakes up to a Kristiansand he vaguely recognises, but is still completely different. Here he is married, and his wife assumes he has amnesia, but he suspects he has landed in a parallel reality. There are no gas or diesel engines, only steam. Historical figures are not always who he remembers them to be: Immanuel Kant is an physician and memoir writer, and Dante is a revolutionary. Henrik gets a job working on a gigantic pillar-like structure in the middle of the ocean, the purpose of which is never made clear.

You know what I call that Pillar Karl? A Phallic Symbol. 

Linda Bostrom - your wife Karl - is a writer, educated in literary thematism, but I’m curious why her husband having written a novel about a man whose personal details resemble his own having a hard-on for a teen girl hasn’t raised any red flags for her about your actual nature, and though I haven’t read Book 2, A Man in Love, somehow, maybe the lack of attention paid the question of pedophilia in Ute Av Verden in light of your success for writing openly about your first failed marriage and the curious ups-and-downs of the second marriage in Min Kamp, “Linda, my dear wife, if you love me and want to be with me for life you ought to know I am susceptible, through my father’s repressed emotions which I contagiously absorbed living in a house with him, to fixating on a much younger woman playing a student in my cloistered world” comes up as vital marriage conversation topic. Again, not something you want to hear on Christmas, but

Dear Linda Bostrom Knausgaard – my name is Andrea Coates, Canadian Writer and amateurpsychoanalyst, aka, compassionate sex-worker. You husband, Karl Ove Knausgaard, the Tome, is at immanent risk of becoming like ‘Mr McEwan’ from my debut novel, Splendid inSanity -  despite the shrewd attention he paid his important job and gentleness towards his loving wife he will go down in Canadian Legend as a rapist of underage prostitutes and terrible father - or – even worse – like Woody Allen. Yes your husband compared to Woody Allen by a fellow woman-writer Linda is the worst thing you could possibly hear on Christmas, but a lonely old man-genius with a much-younger mistress complex whose only contact with young women is his own daughters or his kids’ friends is A PEDOFILE THREAT. I would get him to a witch-doctor.

Better Idea, I think, in the tricky case of the man with the ‘nubile understudy’-fetish, than keeping a lid on the appropriately-middle-aged marriage so long it blows up all over human decency, is for the famous old man with clever little-girl groiny lusts to find himself a talented adult dominatrix who knows how to use self-hypnosis to transform herself into a hologram of an adolescent girl. In my case my psycho-sexual sense of self so completely revolves around this ‘fantasy’ I have of being a teenage goth-girl violently raped by a domineering father-figure I can role-play this happening with pretty much any man who wants to be a domineering father-figure rapist, which is a shocking, or not so shocking at all, number of men in positions of professional fame. boop and snarly Grownup Dragon Tattoo Andrea Coates, she of big knives and gangster connections and literary swagger, transforms into needy cute hypnotized teenage Andrea Coates, she of confused mumblings about her boyfriend G and sad horrible crying and clinging, you can ply for a price like publicly acknowledging my literary talent or apologizing for your hurtful misogyny you stupid man. That way man gets his ‘rape a teenager’ experience without actually raping a teenager, just an adult who was raped as a teenager, or thinks she was, and therefore sexual fixates on old men who want to rape teenagers and consents to pretending to be a teenager for these men.I think this method is healthier than pretending ‘rape a teenage girl’ urges do not exist in imposing narcissistic literary father-figures like Humbert Humbert or Karl Ove or Woody Allen. As we see by what happened to Karl Ove’s daddy, suddenly taking up drinking, or G’s dad the Judge, suddenly got prostate cancer and just as suddenly beat it, when the imposing narcissistic literary father-figure refuses to acknowledge and act on his sexual fantasies about teenagers he self-destructs. Woody Allen’s not dead because he rapes young women. The Judge lived because I let him rape me as an adult. Karl Ove lives for the same reason. I provide a service.

Keeping sexual fetishes inside yourself leaves them as ghosts for your children to contend with. Adequately addressed violent sadomasochistic or pedophilic fetishes evaporate – that is the very reason they exist – they are tangible symbolic representations of abstract emotional realities. Act them out in a responsible manner and feel good about it and no nasty pervert ghost lingers – the emotional blockage is cleared. Take actions that leave you feeling guilty, or someone else feeling angry, or failing to take action, will create a poltergeist that will infect others with its perverted will. Writer Karl Ove is obsessed with why did daddy die so horrible? Pimp G is obsessed with recreating his Judge father’s fantasy prostitutes in women he likes. Take responsibility where your dad couldn’t, Karl, get an appropriate younger mistress, and let your children be free of it. The younger children in a family are more vulnerable to absorbing the fetish ghosts, it seems. It was the Judge’s 3rd kid who was most ‘troubled’, whose unusual behavior towards women is most notable, who lived for the longest with only his parents as company in their big house during his adolescence. Karl Ove had more exposure to his father than his older brother Yngve, and was more emotionally receptive to him by sensitive nature. Karl Ove is the brooding one, stuck on some thorn he cant seem to describe in words, though his talent for describing with words is enormous, he knows it has something to do with his father’s death, something to do with not being satisfied with the nuclear family life, something to do with great art and nymphets and a distant landscape…

I look forward to reading the other 5 Books of Karl Ove’s ‘Struggle’, but they’re written in circularform – the fifth comes back to the father’s funeral and the sixth follows up on the publication of the first. So the central mystery is ‘why did daddy die like that?’ and seeing as I figured it out after one book, and Karl Ove doesn’t have a mistress yet, just more kids, I think in 6 books he doesn’t solve the mystery, he just ponders it a lot while watching his otherwise boring life go by. In all the attention your books have received Karl, has anyone offered a solution to the mystery that was satisfactory? Would they dare? Or are you so understated no one even realized this is a mystery series? Detective Karl Ove on the trail of the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I dare to propose an answer to the mystery only so far in because I have personal experience with how nasty life gets when human beings fail to talk openly and honestly and listen compassionately about sexual thoughts and feelings. What would have happened to the Judge if he’d had the guts to say, “Wife, I think I need to visit a prostitute.” She would have been crushed. But why? Because it meant she wasn’t good enough? What if the Judge had the wherewithal to say, “Wife, I think I need to visit a prostitute. I have extreme sadomasochistic fetishes. I have fantasies of beating and torturing women who aren’t you. I don’t want to do that to you. I love you. I think I need to find someone who’s job it is to address fetishes like mine so we can carry on in our marriage how it has been.” He probably couldn’t have said that in 1985, so instead he repressed and wound up with a sociopathic pimp for a son, which is okay in the end because I really like that kid. You can see how putting it like that, providing the details of just what the prostitute is needed for, softens the blow, spares the wife’s feelings. It’s not that she’s not good enough, but that, because of their separate origins and life-experiences, sometimes a couple’s fetishes diverge, even if they are otherwise a good match, and raise children well together, for example. In such instances it is appropriate to enlist the help of a knowledgeable dominatrix, of whom there are too few. Easy enough to pay someone to whip you in secret, much harder to find someone to organize the skeletons in your closets, unless – she finds you. I wind up with a lot of customers. So many I have to get to work untangling their naughty sex dreams before they even learn who I am!

I climb under the covers with the King of Norway and his Swedish wife. I point out to prodigy Mark Zuckerberg his infatuation with the older Sheryl Sandberg. I try to save Shane Smith’s marriage only to discover he wants me to ruin it. I cure the Judge’s prostate cancer ( but I also gave it to him ). I provide for Sonny Barger’s continued legacy. I suggest Isreali Philosopher Sam Vaknin and British/Sri-Lankan Rapper M.I.A have sex. What to me is self-evident, or only so hidden a trip to the library will suffice to uncover it, is to others dangerously presumptuous and meddlesome, but I wouldn’t so easily be able to see through superficial super-ego conformity and compensation mechanisms to subconscious frightening idiosyncratic id lusts if I didn’t love people and want the best for them. Haters can’t see through bullshit. People who prioritize propriety can’t see through bullshit. Only the bravely emotionally honest and self-exposing can see through bullshit.

People who think there are or can be areas of life in which sexual fetishism plays no roles are those who are drowning in bullshit. Teachers have tingles about their favorite ( or least favorite ) students. Men who love their stable families crave heart-stomping strumpets. Wives who pour themselves into husbands are betrayed by them. A girl who wants the boy who took her virginity winds up a shameless prostitute. You should know, if you consider yourself a realist novelist. Confess and be forgiven. Pretend you are above it and be destroyed.
Monogamous marriage makes economic sense. One woman to one man and everyone is provided for. The only sure way not to get pregnant is to abstain. But not emotional sense. Some women want multiple men and some men want no women. Sometimes you get raped. The human heart knows no bounds and if you try to encase it or your sexual fantasy life with laws and distractions you will die pathetic and failed like Karl Ove’s dad. He didn’t get a teenage girl to craft in his image, or even an adult mistress to see once a month: he got a horrific despair floated by a singular conviction of integrity: at least I didn’t rape a child. And Karl Ove, what do you get? A big healthy family? A Tolstoyan reputation? An ageless Gothique Lolita to take among the animal furs? Yeah, feel sorry for Karl Ove Knaugaard all right, he’s struggling.

With as Much Sincerity as I can muster here, Karl ( Sarcasm comes so Much Easier ): I love you. 
You're One of the Greats. I think I am too. It would be nice if someone acknowledged my talent before the amorphous bureaucratic 'they' haul me to the bin for harassing the Judge and plotting to sh**t Sonny Barger MAYBE for a Story. But whatever. I am one of the Greats. I win with a Song.

Go have yourself a Cry Karl Ove
Big Eyes is a 2014 American biographical drama film directed by Tim Burton, starring Amy Adams and Christoph Waltz. The film, focusing on American artist Margaret Keane (Adams), whose work was fraudulently claimed in the 1950s and 1960s by her then-husband, Walter Keane (Waltz), tells the story of their heated divorce trial wherein Margaret accused Walter of stealing her paintings. It was released theatrically on December 25.


Good NEWS Vigilante Vancouver: Violent Mexican Cartels looking for Canadian Cocaine Business Oppertunities get More! than they bargained 4! @ Utopian Feminist Fun Party

If America can beat Canada to decriminalizing Marijuana
Canada can beat Mexico to becoming aNarco State
then maybe Mexico will beat America to True Democracy
Now that's what I call Healthy Competition. 
Serious Questions for Mexican Gangsters

Why are you in this Business?

Do you enjoy being in a violent gang?

Which is more important to you? – money? – what money can buy? – what money can’t buy?

Do you believe in God?

Do you believe in Karma?

What do you think of the violence perpetrated by drug gangs in Mexico?

What do you think of the violence against women in Mexico?

If given the choice would you prefer to have you and your businesses be hounded by the state or accommodated by the state?

Would you like to see the Mexico/USA border deregulated?

Do you believe good sex and a condescending attitude towards women generally are compatible?

Do you believe there is a connection between how a gangster treats women and how successful he is in his career?

Do you think it is possible to traffic drugs ethically? If yes or no why so?

Do you think it is possible to pimp sex-workers ethically? If yes or no why so?

Do you think it is possible to deal death ethically? If yes or no why so?

Do you think what makes a gangster powerful and gives him longevity in the game is how vicious he is or how ethical he is?

Which is more important to you? – how men see you? – how women see you? – both equal?

If Western Canada were willing to provide safe haven for drug money and drug dealers would cartels be willing, in exchange, to punish anyone in Mexico known to be violent against women and civilians? Would you consider this a fair exchange?

If Mexico founded its own Utopian Anarchist Gangsters&Black-Market Human Rights ‘Fun Party’ how successful do you think it would be in the polls?

Do you think cartels would make more or less or the same money if cops stopped harassing drug smugglers simply for being drug smugglers and focused instead on product tampering, sales to minors, and violence against civilians?

Do you think it’s fair civilians take black-market recreational drugs but it is the traffickers who are persecuted? Which do you think is more offensive – being a drug-dealer or being a hypocrite?

Why do you think there are so few high-level female gangsters?

What would a woman have to do for you to consider her your equal or even your superior in the game?

What does your ideal relationship with Canada and Canadian organized crime look like as a Mexican organized criminal?

What does you ideal personal and professional life look like as an organized criminal?

a Mexican Drug Trafficker told The Dallas Morning News: “Sometimes, when you cross a shipment of drugs to the United States, adrenaline is so high that you want to celebrate by killing women.”  


Dear Blake. I dunno about where you live but where I grew up in Northwest Canada and where I live now in Southwest Canada there have been for decades two serial killers of women. One is named Robert Pickton. He used to own a pig farm outside Vancouver. He picked on sex-workers in the Downtown Eastside brought them to massive drug parties at his farm and killed them in semi-secret and disposed of their bodies. Most of these women were indigenous. He was caught a few years ago and his trial was big news and much was made of how hard the RCMP were trying not to let the details of the case out and the court process was being bungled. Word on the Street is Pickton was going to help them nab some Hell’s Angles he was friends with so the RCMP turned a blind eye to what they knew was badnews on his farm. There’s also the factor that a lot of the women who were getting murdered – like dozens of women who were labeled “Missing Women” and for years the police shrugged it off and didn’t look into it – were Natives and drug addicts and prostitutes. Their families insisted they’d been murdered and a lot figured Pickton did it but the police took forever. Finally they searched Pickton’s farm and found bodies and foul play. Now he’s in jail. There’s a second murder of women in the North. The stretch of Highway passes through my hometown is called the “Highway of Tears” because women have been going missing. Hitchikers. There’s some trucker or sicko who cruises the Highway of Tears for female hitchhikers and kills them dumps their bodies in the woods probably. There is way way way too much bush out there for the police to search when another woman goes missing. Those women will probably never be found. Most of the women who’ve gone missing up North are Natives. Natives have to hitchhike. White girls own cars. A White Girl went missing and the Police launched a massive search. Her name was Nicole Hoar sounds like ‘Whore’. We don’t know who’s been killing Women on the Highway of Tears. I think I’m going to find him Blake and I’m going to shoot him and dump his body in the woods and it will be Justice for the Women. Does this happen where you live, Blake? In NYC or where you grew up or where you set your novel 300,000,000, alluding to Roberto Bolano’s 2666 about the murdered women of Juarez? Is there a serial killer of dozens and dozens of women who is on the loose where you live? and a strange goth cult? Or these days do serial killers of women only happen in Western Mexico and Western Canada and on American TV? In my small hometown in the Far North on the Highway of Tears I was in a street gang. Me and my teenage friends sold drugs and operated what were like kiddie clubs and brothels. Me and my girlfriends behaved like teen prostitutes for a teen and young male clientele for pretend fun – we didn’t need the money. This was happening because my Goth Boyfriend’s dad the Judge in town was in love with me and so my boyfriend treated me like his orgy hooker and got me to hang out with all these dropout drug-dealing girls and older men who would have sex with us. My Gothic Boyfriend with the Judge Dad Blake is a pimp and a drug-dealer and I think it’s inevitable he starts working with the Hell’s Angels. I’m worried about him because I think he’s too stupid ( in the heart not in the head ) not to step on the wrong toes or get caught with a lot of cocaine. So I’ve decided to seduce Sonny Barger, American Patriarch of the Hell’s Angels, who is like 80, by writing to him who is also an author, to make my young pimp the new Outlaw Patriarch and me an official biographer and bottom bitche knows how to get away with murder. Then I can have the Hell’s help me find whoever is killing women on the Highway of Tears and we will kill him – give that gang something positive to do. I think Judge Daddy and his Prodigal Son and I are going to open a nightclub called the Ganja Goddess in Vancouver. I’ve been recruiting kids from Alt Lit to come and hang out there and do sex-work and put on shows with us and jody who is our witch-doctor. I think we overthrow the Canadian and American Governments so to be able to run our nightclub how we feel like it and dispatch Justice how we feel like it – backwoods style. What does Obama got on me? I understand why you’re afraid of me Blake. I’m a scary person. But what is 300,000,000 about anyway? Who is the Detective? What happens in the end?
Missing Women Task Force

Dear Kim Bolan

Thank you for your coverage of the Sinaloa and La Familia Cartel’s arrival in Vancouver ( Part One and Part Two ). My name is Andrea Coates and I am what you might call an organized crime buff. I founded @FunParty the world’s first ( I know of ) Gangsters&Black-Market Human Rights Political Party. One of many aims @FunParty is to determine if a radical new attitude to organized crime results in a decrease in violence perpetrated by and towards black-market professional drug-traffickers, sex-workers, and death-dealers aka gangsters. Holy wow brilliant idea I’m suggesting with my party is being nice and friendly ( very very very friendly indeed ) with the gangsters on condition of their respectful behavior in this country and elsewhere. While I do not expect overnight Canada’s police and politicians and public will change their attitudes towards the black-market and those who work it I can ( perfectly legally I think ) conduct an open experiment to see if a firmly empathic feminist approach to organized crimiinals personally results in less deaths in gang wars, less violence against women by male gangsters, and better quality of drugs and trafficking businesses. It seems to me from all I have read and the movies I've watched about gangs and gangsters and all I have experienced as a sex-worker the problem with gangsters in society isn’t that they deal drugs, or pimp women, or even that they kill each other ( activities they are usually persecuted for ), rather that gangsters are often misogynistic, but this problem of sexism is equally prevalent among police, giving police little moral right to persecute gangsters. I think a person can deal drugs, pimp women, and even kill people ethically. No one can be an ethical misogynist, even if they never break ‘the law’, and therefore the social issue to address in ‘organized crime’ is not the ‘organized crime’ per se but rampant misogyny among organized criminals personally and those who police them personally. I think if organized criminals were feminist allies and responsible businesspeople communities wouldn’t mind them around and gangsters could go on trafficking drugs and pimping women and killing one another and it wouldn’t be a nuisance, it would be something fun to watch on TV, and barely any gangsters except for those who really deserve it ( because they kill civilians or sell tainted drugs or rip people off or beat women ) would have to go to prison. I am a utopian anarchist and I think a society scrubbed clean of its organized criminals is not only impossible but boring. Canada @FunParty without gangsters? Nah. So I will try getting cozy and preaching the gospel of feminism as the price of sex to the thuglies and the police can try to put the Mexican and Canadian black-market entrepreneurs in jail and ruin their businesses and we will see who gets more done in this country and internationally and to what ends. 

Yours Truly

Andrea Coates


Sociopathic Gangsters: empathize with them for they are Lonely 
because they (and their Dads) are
The cocaine trafficker, if that’s what you happen to be into like some people are into amputees or midgets or housewives or nymphets, even if he doesn’t take cocaine behaves like he takes cocaine. He is a tense paranoid sporadically-violent anal-retentive pathologically-lying sociopath alpha-male with a delusional power complex, numb extremities, and erectile dysfunction. I feel sympathetic towards him. I think the drug-lords need to relax and put down the gun. I have more sympathy for cocaine traffickers than most police and most civilians. Because cocaine traffickers are maniacal greedy alpha-males they must acquire topnotch trophy bitches wherever those 10s be at. Law of attraction. Unfortunately for the patriarchal drug-lord the only kind of woman can handle a LTR with a drug-lord is more delusional than he is and coveted by every other drug-lord in the world ( she is Carmen Sandiego the Jewel Thief and where will she turn up next! ) so emotionally-cowardly drug-lords focus instead on marrying ignorant sequestered beauty queens and fucking discardable pin-up hookers and trying to be satisfied with lots of money. Hahahaha. Good luck with that boys. Such drug-lords usually wind up dead or in jail. In my experience the cocaine trafficker avoids the kind of woman could actually satisfy him in his violent powerhungry illusions of triumphant phallic manhood, witch is the kind of woman who points at a cocaine trafficker and laughs at him for being uptight and stupid, which is so emasculating, and why he took up being a gangster in the first place – to avoid being laughed at for being uptight and stupid in his efforts to appear manly and worldly and dangerous. What a paradoxical conundrum for the fully-loaded cocaine trafficker. How will he solve this puzzle with his criminal noggin or his gun or whatever.