outsideinroads

Life games, music, magic and all the rest. Adventures of the fringe of the fringe amongst the.. "People's Republic of Brighton and Hove"


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Parp (untitled)

The shadow, so enormous.

You know how so, as big as the light, as…

exactly.

It skitters and cuts at every vessel in you.

It tugs at your heart and spits acid in your stomach.

You know it.

The tactile and tacit pleasure

it seems is found

by those ones

in the stamping on, sidelining, eliminating

of the paths of “others”..

of

weaker others. Our complicity.

The rot at the heart of capitalism,

at the heart of these motions in nothing we

call lives.

You’re no good, what’s the use?

We pull out corners, we seethe..

We, those who find ourselves here,

we watch and move and still

we breathe and watch

and watch and breathe

and aim to let it go, we

cover our heads in wing like blankets

and sing “kill the rich! kill the rich!”

We tentacle up our faces with our

hands, we hide in the shadows,

we take refuge in the everynothing,

we yearn and weep and howl,

and the individual stories,

individual deaths

are always so much bigger

or the same, the same

and billions of atoms,

billions of stars…

I want to say “Here we are kids,

this is it.” I want to say

“Chin up, it just happened”

But No, or maybe a bit

a purge

I see you, leaving, I see you,

growing, I retch, I spit. I hear

the sound.

Party til you’re dead lads,

it’s only just begun.

But a puff of smoke,

this phantasm!

A parody of itself.. I..

don’t know how to fight,
I don’t know how to play my part in the

bursting vessels, flowing vessels,

this pipes pipes pipes,

This outwards, inwards deep deep hum,

This arena of such unbridled joy

and such hot hot empty desire,

Violence. I don’t know

How

So

I

call

on

you

again……

and

laugh.

See how we get on with that.

I love you.

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Slipsteam Lookout Post

Broad sweep of singing, wild cloaks, wild weather, not safe

as in a constant watch out for the

time to leave, as in a constant watch out

for, a constant action against

those baddies, those vampires, not just any,

as in…

and how to get across in words

this broad sweep of our cloak, this scoop up into wings,

this skin shedding, meta-morph paracosm,

this illusion, this broad stroke reality.

Head wool on the outside, mutating beasts

learning our responsibility in our reality and

so often playing out our virtual neuroses again

and again, as you said. Or in

a movement to protect from

a thing we all sense

All day,

Every day. We are not always clear about it,

and we sense it in and from the very best things, and ourselves,

as well as in enormity in this fabric, every strand and every space of the game that we must play….

And in the patterns.

The patterns.

And we speed out our activities to be ones of collaboration and

Peace. Love. And we speed out our activities to expand, to fill the

very real, very imaginary

Whole Universe. In final suspension of time,

as in / out, you, your love. NOW.

All power and vulnerability, all lost children,

all dedications, sacrifices to….

all Gods into, all shades of

this heart. Forever, forever, in growing, surviving as long as,

until it’s final. This final, final, final, always changing Never

Forever Love.


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Summer Summary So?

So many stories to tell. Community, play, old friends in strengthening in new friends. A summer, all Brighton, all travel, all small space make own culture (especially at Supernormal Festival). All more than could be expected. Release play, learning, being ok, some vital: “right path sonny jim, carry on moar!” Laffing. Such new / old companions, comrades, compatriots.

To learn that the purpose isn’t always the purpose it seems to be. To create things that change, that facilitate this beautiful tribe and the folk in it to grow and change and sweep about, without doing what we thought or imagined (yet). To be happy for it.

This bubble afloat. We’re from the future. Gender mess gay children. A summer in Owold ASStral, reconnect through science. New dimensions (as if it isn’t big enough!), new colours, new life. We make it. Thumbs up.

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Their unfeasible reality that continues, biting at heals – a terror – even to us – to our bright-arse inventive friends and their brilliant children. Dismantle of better rules of play continues alarmingly. People suffer. Sometimes we scream and hide.

Our new life is action, is a work against this work, is a work for ***^^^**** Universe/ourselves/itself. No need to have this work as punishment – it is in their interests. We’re from the future. I a mess of hopes and dreams, as ever, ever, all those forces on my side give messages of carry on, and I will. I do. Despair is a terror. Breaks happen, and we move. I stand with everyone in times of horror. Yes, and dive about on my own escapade. I just wrote this thinking of Lou Reed. (Although the formatting is not right, no matter). As I write this a beautiful tangle strand appears adrift in friends, their messages, the same message:

Here we are.


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Galaxy smash combinations

LIchen bark

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.

LOVE.

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.


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Head Cracks: Digression from Tories May 2015

A version of this features in Immediate Responses.

Such indescribable head cracks in a sea of threatened violence, actual violence, early promise. Couldn’t know where to begin – the threat of established FINISH THE JOB, the pocket humans trapped in the model village with all care taken
from them
lilt sway, we grew up with expectations from the state. Even in our world we somehow believed that it served us. I guess because in some reality sense it did. We were whelped from its clean safety. Small organisms observed at length and dealt with in the mafia sense. The level of organisation is mind blowing. The seagulls don’t know about it. Clever one climbs aboard a train, takes a ride to another town. They can’t know who built the train. To them is it a natural force, like a metal built wind? Do we behave much the same? Things work, more or less, and we use them. We seem to tend to forget the stories we are told which are too much, if we are told them at all. Our empire being built as it is on such suffering and death at a distance. Children in the DRC. Unknown children.

Digression. I would be sad and angry. It is brilliantly impossible to be sad or angry walking up the road to meet my baby in the sunshine with Pata Pata by Miriam Makeba whirling through me. I had no idea. The sun is still out and the trees are a universe of life force in each new stretching leaf. People are sad and look untrusting but are so beautiful. The last few days have. I do quake with what is coming. I am not convinced that there is anything left for us in this semblance of state and democracy. If I am honest I am not as prepared as I would like to be. I am still often a territorial creature although I have become less proud about admitting it and seem to see it more. We may have to leave, but I am not willing to stay here and leave people behind. People who need help we don’t know how to provide without a state. Worse with a state in the way. Perhaps we must learn. Besides at some point that is more or less all of us.

I won’t think about blood. Imagine if we governed ourselves for what we needed. This is full anarchy and always was, it’s just that the sometimes benevolent despots took over, like people always say they will. Their true colours show. It’s already happened and that is. I wonder where to turn next. I wonder at all the discussion and organising that is already taking place. I feel we must rely more on ourselves now and learn to look after each other. Stop fooling ourselves that they will take care of us. And I feel that we will. There is hope and it is inside us. People live. A friend of mine is in a hospice with cancer, she is only just 32. Errors. I think of her and I think of Miriam Makeba. I think of my mother. I think of love. Of the flitter flutter of moments that seem to tie into patterns out.

Open

nowhere

endless

dust

spaces.

Cracks let light in. There is a strength in us that I may only just be beginning to tap into. A care in the flap of the wings of geese.