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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Strip

 

who?

 

I

boy

girl

woman

man

shift

thing

 

I, seven layer burrito

~ every shimmer of empty moment space

 

Those boy/girl things. Girlie boy, boyish girl things.

Race into the park after dark, fizz-shimmer of dungarees, muddy paws,

don’t stop bawling, BMX, rock kid beatnik posing. Tumble deep inner world

of creation, girlz run the world OK, in delight in strong friendships,

nurture potential, hunker down and make a world not founded on

all of this.

 

Strip endless

layers

in deep magic,

as

big breast mama, all and many,

realised,

embodied abundance,

pure and endless giving. // In shuddering, perverse,

joyous

masc effeminacy sensation, in free flying, sun of

atomic fusion process, hair in wind,

tall pretty prince of my dreams, myself to

save me, the world, boys

and girls of immateria, our transience, found in

your grace, shy swagger.

 

peel back, discover

hurt aggressor

you don’t want to but it happens and

you do want to,

grabbing manchild all power

push, the worst, in, out

a panic of drive, bug greedy for

bodies, caves,

bodies and

land – all actor, forget to see

humanity, see godspark in

self or other – so fearful, so broken

make tight tangle spark

electricity with hurt

soul, girl. Strange seat of abandonment

slave, girl

I am her

hurt

soul, woman. Strange seat of abandonment

howl, eternity in shit and puke

Death, alone – that whole hole is there

it seems, in this now. In both sides of the switch, relation.

All these are all, beings, godhead –

this being what is left if we leave out the animals ~

the smash bash panic of it all – and ~ breathe ~

feel into the spaces, personify,

allow these relations to smash, waves on shores,

break apart into the nothing they are, and ~

 

the you that speaks to me as I do so,

strong presence, holds,

feels out with me, plays in the

deep darkness with, and guides through become

wildest Light, you, brightest , bestest

masculine energy – you are me, too ~

 

~ spasm` out and small girl, yearning in haze

of sensation and realising – in

climbing rocks and rolling down hillsides,

in explorations on beds and tactile wonders

through landscape soundscapes,

all waterfall meanders, light through trees

and rocks and wind in leaves across

oceans of desire, curiouser and curiouser to

imagine being proud and possible

beaming in expanse with skill and openness ~

boy in desert girl, holed up in all things,

in longings for the ‘pre-op’

girls in phone boxes, perfectly strange

parrot of patriarchal scum phrases

‘best of both worlds’ in ~ not realising

that this ~ feeling !  is not how

everyone feels, secretly

inside (don’t they?), but who are they and

what is it , gay boy in a

young woman’s body vision ~ how is it

possible to make a world out of? That’s not how I ~

~ what I

how is it possible? To glitter and dress up, eye

liner and neon lights in dark corners

poppoppopop pop !

Claim a stake in some kind of being here,

hole up and make a life here (new life, new life)

to spin out shake out sister,

be the best girl, a woman

all breasts and love women and love those women and be also otherwise and be women and love them.

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Untitled (Brighton, June 1 2017)

13412975_10153806693458031_4064815948681787480_nBrighton is that sort of place that makes you want to throw off all responsibilities and declare everything a holiday forever. The beach is always there, whispering all Siren. Bright sun through the window. The promise of fluttering sparks of energy, dancing with your gaggle of tremendous oddities. The spinning rides in motion on the end of the pier, tangential lines and angles.

The sun is out, the beach is full. People have plenty to do, but sometimes the call of the beach is greater. Everyone feels a bit guilty about it for a moment, then laughs it off. If you escape the guilt you feel the tingle of a kind of immense freedom. The streets are full of shopping mothers, folk on lunch breaks, weaving hippies, mod stance, fluttering gulls and pigeons. The sunshine/chatter/open/flit through the crowds in a sea of possibility. This is the only place in the country where most people vote Green. And you can feel it. 

And still violence happens. Gaybash tourism to St James’ St, drunk football louts shouting trans* slurs, almost no one realising how insidiously racist the stupid little things that fall out of their conditioned minds and mouths often are… all of the above is true, but also this is England. This is life. This is not so different, and the streets are full of dickheads and people who have no idea they could stop griping at each other. Cops. And people who are unable to get a roof over their heads.

I remembered recently a primary root of the floatsome weight that seems so often to be inside of me, the heartache at the core of my being, all hoofy and impossible. I remembered why there is a seriousness, and why I have responsibilities to it. Plus I also have to eat, pay rent. It would be great to get out of debt. Fun doesn’t pay for itself either…  and wouldn’t it be nice to buy some records again one day.

But look at Brighton, although you can’t see it the sun shines through the window all shimmers and you know it’s out there, holiday town, mini windmills, put on those imagined or actual cowboy boots, a featherbow-a, little shorts and a spangling attitude. Mince down that promenade like you know you were made to! Howl at the folk trying to get on with their regular lives. Fall over laughing. We’re glitter trash queer party otherworld motherfuckers from the future. We’d better make it right now!

And later in the soft moonlight, crash hush waves, repeat, repeat, and the two moons hang gentle power in the sky. Close companions suddenly on why we are no more to blame for this mess than the moths and butterflies, leaves on the trees gentle rattle, yet sit in shared responsibility still, as with so many things. Remember the stillness, the wide open brilliance of sitting on this rock in space and staring out to sea, out to the universe.

Absurdist patterns that we make together and apart are not merely to shock each other into realisation of political emptiness, no. And that is why those tools cannot be left to reside in the hands of those who do not at all seem to perceive these things (and also why those tools may still yet have effects on them that we have not yet seen). It is the profound emptiness of everything that floats our boats and blows wind in our sails, the experience of consciousness that for a moment in time appreciates it, and within it the being of those glorious roots and connections, flutters that function so obviously as this is one, this strange process, us strange process, universe, All.


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and yet not

Doubt, holy force

centre spiral, this life with

central point in all directions, all

directions doubt. To stop

and read, encounter

words, feel

strange

strands,

never

had to

read entire

ancestry through

               colonising other’s

eyes, eyes of my forefathers

             saturated in unimaginable

disconnection grab grab

                                                             grab crab better like my family,

                                                                  like I just learned

                                                                           Gandhi did

also, in

chain

of

like Do Things Our Way but

not too much, know

place, fuck off //

territory not

all over 100 years ago

how we have shifted,

flourished, grown

and yet not,

chasm

       failure perception

Where the road

had taken us

every moment

                                                                             still

                                                                                 here.

and say No.

and remember

                                   transmutation

Hope,

Love’s wells

spring

in

 step

 we are new

  Children

     Weeping

       in the blood and

curses

of our ancestors,

we take foot

and make new

Our own methods,

Will learn

(depths, games

Nothing) from

Everywhere,

Still

acknowledge, respect, dance

only way to play with

gentle footsteps

although

                                                   loud pumping progeny

                                                        rest and grow

                                       Build new queer

                                   Future We Are

                               from nowhere direction

                                  Meet and find the others

Only when the time and stars

                                               And spells are


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youth of a thousand summers

The intersection has been experienced as all encompassing

and before I knew where to turn

on first glance – so much of it laid itself ahead

and

all around scatter – a spiral formation in a million shooting stars

starts and spit colour light

threads, to be woven into patterns by us.

 

A dance, the dance, THAT dance

to come of age, to come, to see you in her

sparkling eyes, to hear your voice all simple

to talk me through each

inflection, “hey, hey, a sip of water, a

leap over the

 

precipice, hey, hey… NOW….” To open wide mind

like bish bosh you young gay boy,

you paragon of womanhood !

You, lover, you

 

As a kid I never wanted to be queer

I feared my strange sex, I

found it shameful in myself

where I NEVER did in others. I watched

Frank-N-Furter and did not even.

All love and

empty of blame, I YEARNED

And yet I told myself again and again:

no, no someone to keep me sane

a sensible and

well no, I mean, a boy but ANY boy. I mean a boy

but only the BEST boy. I mean only one who

would never love me. I mean LOVE

ALL LOVED

and I mean only YOU (I mean you…)

and TITS and I mean to be a boy.

 

It was a confusing time, looking back.

 

But never known was

Always known was

I mean music, and a lost self in

Ecstasy. I mean that that was

always the thing. And that

you were, are, always. I mean that in a

golden freedom, in a light

touch, in a madness, in a screaming down the street

there are truths on

that dancefloor,

in those mountains. There is peace.

There are eternal moments

Outside.