MEMORY OF A FREE FESTIVAL

If we're going to have golden years we need a golden dawn and maybe just maybe that's what Festival 23 was about - kick off like that and I reckon we're away like a hairy dog...a week later and these are things I know or at least suspect in the way that I suspect the weekend is here again seeing as right now it's Friday night, Nottingham tome -

Somewhere on the way that ran from home to Sheffield, station to station then on to the site (a journey that cost £11.50 there and the same back by taxi, and you know what that makes the total for the round trip), normal spacetime was suspended and I found myself – or at any rate someone quite like me, only shinier, with tiger blood and Adonis DNA - in a radical mash-up arts portal, constructed by shadow apparatus known only to Anwen, F23’s ayurvedic mama, who with her stalwart crew kicked the tires and lit the fires and while Babylon burned constructed a temporary autonomous zone where monkey pirate dreamlogic and favoured entities allowed the assembled to spend time in the elfin trenches, no time for old paradigm trauma among the charismatic megafauna, leaking into one another through peer contagion pheromones, strummed like meat harps by the bulldozer charm of something bigger than us all, bringing to mind Crowley’s maxim that the eternal mistake of mankind is to set up an attainable ideal –

We need more than that, and it’s happening – SMI2LE and take a candid camera shot of the world today – left and right are doing their squabbly thing as ever, in various flavours – but while the puppet show carries on Elon Musk is planning to put a million people on Mars in our very lifetimes, funding the venture through the sales of electric cars that will soon be self-propelling and generating solar power as they drive – and Jimmy Cauty’s Aftermath Dislocation Principle hovers in the background, another possible future, extrapolated from the entrails of the present, boys in blue patrolling the post-Brexit cityscape –

If these are the end times, they’re no end of fun and possibility, and now I reach into the past, sampling a poem I wrote – that wrote me, put me rite at least temporarily – and which I offer now to bring this jigglesome jaunt to a close –

(For the moment) –

Make an impact -- learn to rupture
Liven up the surface structure
Abandon the planned and
Glad-hand the random
Conscious, unconscious, steering in tandem

The day-to-deity here is Eris
Goddess of Chaos, succulent mistress
Benevolent minx, Hex in the City
Whoop-de-doo wyrdplay, pearls from the gritty

 

XXxxx