For the Athens gang. Ross Kemp on.
Athens all sunshine and storms and tankies and tankards and tanktops and rebetika dances and St James’ Infirmary as the height of humans and gentleness and splendid yabbering and splatters of the same kind of BE QUIET THEY ARE PAYING MORE DOWNSTAIRS nonsense you get at home and ACAB and the best cheese pies and food in general. Oh and if you go to the end of the end of the line on the tram there’s a bunch of kids who wish they were in made in chelsea listening to that kind of minor key autotune power pop that makes me want to slit even vein or probably just walk away softly, which we did.
Elsewhere turf war graffiti. Golden Dawn is it? Anti fascist slogans. Symbols are so changeable. Fuck The Police. Glimmers of old worlds that remain above and below. Mountains peeking from the city surroundings. Make new bustle. Art Art Art. Destroy Smash Forever . No. It’s hard to say. A sense of resilience that seems unstoppable. A fragility. An impermanence. More hospitality blooming in one person than you might know existed in the universe if you had not come to this part of the world.
Passion flower tendrils pull world view magnetism, smash together lego block galaxies. A sense of getting this version of communism as intended by the people I know and others in a way I never had before. Magic as in a shift in every breath. Moment. Photon. Silence. Lego men visitations. No need to definite our questions of who or what. //Intention to keep any centralisation for the benefit of people and not for policing and punishment and that kind of power. A constant discussion on policing by the state, organisations, cops one meets in daily situations, each other, inside ourselves. The possibility of developing ways of living without any of that. Living better and for each other and ourselves. Not new ideas but seem newly thrown bandicoot like. A new PsychedelicAnarchoCommunism. Is it? Lol. Interesting debates with others encountered. Talk of violence/not violence. Not known. Worlds are the same and not the same. Listening. We are all confused and learning. Cosmic (and terrestrial) dafties. Destructive Writing. Breakdown professional focus. Tidy tidy mind focus. Sellable focus. Order best, their order focus. No Whitewashing. Gallery spaces. Worlds. Slowly building to cosmic bouzouki. Yes, proper cosmic.
No there isn’t a conclusion. It continues in here and out there. I myself feel a love for everyone I went with and encountered and played, debated with on that trip. Even the one person who was quite the sleazebag cop himself. Ha! But no, I digress – more things to destroy to make way – patriarchy and old men who consider the world and everything in it theirs to dictate and not a dance with those they encounter.
I myself intend to enter into such days long dialogue raptures at more frequent intervals with good and willing humans and to celebrate these moments when they come along. With those again, with others. Special fragments. Life.