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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The Past’s Future

Open | Sun | Shimmer | Movement

Slips between channels,

our experience, energy

moves from

place

to

focus. You, the heavy weight,

tall hoof of the past’s

future, you burning neck,

soul inside my heart,

trapped and

breaking

Out, weak point

must be strong to hold

space for you.

The largest

form

an everything

for endless expanse,

still tracking under !Xu’s wide sky,

while these layers of

Power struggles

demand sugar in the cement.

For shudders, kicks,

expulsions, pushing towards

our future, our past

presents itself now in threatening letters,

to loved elders,

whose home is here.

Who once welcomed

to Britain

as young folks,

descended from the people

ancestors of this country

stole, sold across oceans as slaves

into the hardest life on

those soft wave shores, the ones who survived

and broke finally free

into a world which has

never yet stopped trampling on those

Bones, those humans, adding

accretion to inheritance

trauma, constant battle ground

to be known

as human, to live in peace,

share in, and hold

wide network of Love and

All, for those ghosts

that haunt the bones, raised each time

Words are spoken or

threats or guns are raised. The Windrush

a n  o p e n i n g

of its time, another expectation

of servitude, to previous

powers, now in need. One dressed in

fancy best and invited

for tea, which we drank in your living room

when we were very tiny, so sweet, so

Delicious. My first attempt at a school friend,

I digress. And you know

on a day like this

in 2015 I

wrote about hearing Miriam Makeba

in the sunshine in Brighton,

Our own adventures in community

and amplified political

horror had

just begun. Whirlwind creation

of spitting fire between our hands

You kick and sputter, you

Hoof hands, you heart

neck attack, the world,

the life and

death

oh my. Half a million souls

across the waves to reach these

shores towards attacks, you know the

signs in windows, fists in

faces, words, attitudes,

Integral structures

against

and hopscotch

Imagination games, playing out

Beautiful mergers, our

learning, playing

music, dancing

our attempts to make some sense

of belonging

Together

Apart

to build what we saw,

make magic in the mountains of

our dreams, like, no idea

what the power of stories,

words | breathe | touch

could be. Still. A woven dream of

a moment in the

brutal

Interruption, a vision of a home to make

somewhere. That

somewhere.

It continues, perhaps on purpose

the layers have kept

Pouring in the same patterns in the

mould.

Mold may grow in

Different shapes. We weaponize mold

to grow new forms. If fungus can eat

plastic

we Mycelium are the fungus

that can eat these structures, it is not a drill but a

Growing, and the patterns can be moved through,

Can be adapted or SMASHED

We say NO to this

repeat pattern built of slavery. We say it

with real process inside and outside

of ourselves. We say it with care and love and

Setting fire. We say it throwing seeds and spores in all

Directions and ready to water | wait | tend | protect.

We say it with sigils. We say it with alchemy.

We stand together in our home.

We build that astra

Diane spoke of.

We say it with those we love.

We say it looking

at who we are.

We say it clearly. We say it with words.

We say NO to this

repeat pattern built of colonisation

and slavery.


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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.