“anarchists are hopeless romantics” – Thorir

do you need to deeply believe in true love

to understand the viability of anarchism?

 

I think maybe this is the case

I worry for my fellows

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MY FIRST LOVE IS DEAD

Its taken nearly two years of rage and sadness and denial but I’m finally starting to process this shit.
 
I first noticed you outside the supermarket because you were beautiful and you were wearing a Conflict t-shirt. After that we would sit opposite each other in the marketplace waiting for our respective lifts home from college and we’d look at each other but we were both too shy to talk to one another.
 
I still don’t know how you got my hotmail address, but I remember you adding me on MSN Messenger and introducing yourself and I remember thinking Cesca – what a beautiful name. From then onwards we were hopelessly in love.
 
Listening to certain records by Mogwai, Ludovico Einaudi, Anti-Flag, Propagandhi, The National and Beirut will always make me think of you. When I look at photographs from that innocent time I can’t detect in yr eyes the horrors that would later occur.
 
I’m not gonna think about the end. I’m gonna think about all those hours in yr bedroom in Leeds quoting Chris Morris at one another, listening to music and taking silly selfies. I’m gonna think about that time you persuaded me to go out to dinner at a Moroccan restaurant wearing women’s underwear, that was fucking hilarious.
 
Before you died we went for drinks in Henley and made plans to go to Hong Kong together. You were gonna show me around. I guess if I go now I’ll have to buy the Lonely Planet guide instead.
 
At yr funeral I think I was the only one crying during the speeches and I thought that was weird. The coffin was so big and you were such a small woman, it seemed wrong. Then everyone was acting as if everything was normal and making small talk and I was like FUCKING HELL do you not understand what exactly is happening here!? Some annoying woman was trying to chat me up and I’m thinking ‘we’re at the funeral of the love of my life, have some fucking respect’. So I went outside for a cigarette with Gabi.
 
You were the funniest, kindest, gentlest person. So pure and beautiful. I loved you SO SO SO MUCH and I don’t think I’ll ever be totally ok with the fact that yr gone.

gone sour

We were beginning to resent each other for various small unmentionable hypothetical indiscretions. Communication had broken down entirely and we just mutually existed in some kind of raw apathy or simmering inward looking hatred. Love was lost.

“I have spent my whole life being pushed around.”

“Me too”

“Why do you always say “basta!” when I touch you on the arm.”

“Because yr not currently capable of loving me in a sensible way”

I stood up and walked out of the back of the house, jumped a fence into the neighbouring field and climbed the hill up towards what looked like a small copse at the top of the hill. When I got to the top of the hill I was exhausted and there were no trees. I lay down on the grass and looked at the sky. Small black dots floated in and out of my field of vision like ballet dancers. Sometimes in the countryside it can be very quiet. When I hear ‘silence’ I hear a high frequency hum, a phasing mid-frequency robotic sounding phrase and the sound of imaginary horses hooves on their way to apprehend me.

When I got back to the flat Daisy was masturbating on the bed wearing one of my t-shirts, she had a bored look on her face. I sat down on an armchair and watched her. Then I lit a cigarette and started doing things on my phone to pass the time. Eventually Daisy climaxed or at least she got somewhere close and gave up. She stood up and walked over to me, she sat on my lap and her wet cunt started to saturate my jeans.

“I’m feeling a bit paranoid, like, I think that everything I do is the wrong thing and I feel like you hate me. I feel like I’ve annoyed you.”

I looked at her blankly, I felt completely disconnected from her. Daisy began to cry and I felt uncomfortable about the crying and the cunt on my jeans and the fact that she was in such close proximity to me.

“do I suck?”

“you don’t suck any more or any less than anyone else does”.

I didn’t know what was going on, who was I? Who was Daisy? Why were we together in this flat?

Daisy’s face ( a few inches away from mine) was just an achromatic blurred haze of vagueness.

two concerts

1.

Hagar The Womb, The Cowley Club, Brighton.

The Cowley Club is an anarchist co-operative social space in Brighton. My band Austerity played a fun set supporting anarcho punk legends Hagar The Womb.. People danced. Late in the evening I am sat in the garden on my own smoking a cigarette when a strikingly beautiful girl appears, asks me my name and if she can borrow a roll up. The next thing she says is “you are very beautiful”, I assured her that she was also very beautiful but I think I sounded insincere and she was unsure if I was just being polite. I wasn’t. She put her hand on my leg gently and passionately said “do you believe in anarchism?”

It was a carefully scripted manifestation of my most perfect fantasy and yet it was one I never knew I had. Every detail; location, general context, her appearance out of nowhere piercing my solitude, her german accent. All of it was too perfect, and yes it contains a compliment to me cos this is my fantasy-reality and i’m an insecure narcissist. All of this and further still, all of this was seemingly occurring in actual reality.

I gave her lots of merch and literature about my band and we went our separate ways.

2.

Lone Taxidermist, Supernormal Festival. Oxfordshire.

I was at Supernormal Festival and I went to see Lone Taxidermist. There was a long queue outside. When we got inside everything was covered with plastic. I’d ingested a large quantity of psilcybin mushrooms and truffles, some ketamine and I’d been drinking Guinness and smoking joints since breakfast. To put it another way, I was in a fucking weird headspace. I was bothered by the close proximity of the other people in the crowd, then the group came out leering through taut transparent sheets of film, it was terrifying. I had to leave because the world was ending or something. I decided to calm down by the campfire because I fucking love campfires. This is where I met a girl. We talked all night. In the darkness I could barely make out her face in the firelight but I could tell she had a nice smile. She fell off a bench and got gin in her hair. I found this hilarious which was not the appropriate response.

When we stood up to leave I realised that she was taller than me which I didn’t expect.

We kissed a bit and went our separate ways.

3.

NOTES

These two examples are interesting because yes they both feature the notion of romance, but they are quite obviously not about sex. They are about fleeting spontaneous deep connections made with strangers. It is not sexual, it is more accurately described as a meeting of minds.

I dare not even DREAM of meeting the love of my life, all I ask is a few moments with someone being authentic and enjoying each others company. If this is my fantasy what does that say about my own sense of alienation?

What happened at the cowley club and at supernormal, these are magical spontaneous events that freed us from the reach of the spectacle. We were not producing and consuming and the primary quality of our interactions were completely divorced from the notion of production (in all its multifarious forms). They were simply about human connection in its rawest most authentic form.

In a more innocent world these moments would’ve remained beautiful vignettes in the memories of those involved. Now most likely we’ll just stalk each other on Facebook when we feel depressed and enable the spectacle to reach at the guts of its enemy. Everything that is real becomes distorted to the point where it is now false.

hate

I want you to care but you don’t

I’m disinterested but yr obsessed

they say people will only love you

if you first love yrself

well I fucking hate myself

so how is that gonna work?

Self-criticism is my enemy

but I am a a mess of a human

I don’t think the world would be

better off without me, no way

I think that perhaps I would be

better off without the world though