Radio Baghdad broadcasting from Rostock nights:
Heiligendamm is surrounded by tall walls. Nobody, except those living there or the dogs faithful to the world’s elite can possibly get past the high fences and wire there.
So we go to Rostock, to protest against the destroyers gathering in Heiligendamm, for this version of Smoke and Mirrors, for this G8 meeting. But the storm troopers, the current version of the Gestapo attack us even there. There is no pretense, really, no attempt from the cops, the «riot police» to come off as benevolent. They are after us from the moment we arrive at Copenhagen Central Station, and when we arrive at the German border that presence is doubled many times. They harass us and attempt to intimidate us at every juncture on the journey to Rostock. When we arrive there they greet us in their warm and pleasant manner. We are roughed up and searched, and they do their utmost to make it pleasant for us…
But still thousands of people gather in Rostock, in spite of their efforts. And we see how that frustrates them, how it infuriates them. They attack the gathering almost immediately. First there are a few «exercises», limited excursions into the crowd. We know this pattern well and know what to expect.
Then… it begins. They attack us with a viciousness and brutality that quite frankly scares the shit out of me. But we have long ago decided not to let us be intimidated or scared by these people. Their beyond cruel methods and systematic terror just give us one more reason to stand up against them.
They attack us with their clubs and everything. As stated there is no pretence here, in the streets of teargas and coughing and screaming and pain. We fight back, and I’m pleased to declare that more of us fight back this time than ever before. We meet Gestapo with a force easily overwhelming theirs. This is different, different from all the times we have been easy prey. We strike back, and these soldiers of tyranny begin to fall, begin to lose. They drop in the dozens, in the hundreds. We do, too. Wails of pain and horror rise from these streets of fire, but this time we aren’t helpless victims. There are sufficient numbers of angry protesters to stem the advancing tide of tyranny’s brutal thugs. Hundreds are injured and for once they are mostly cops, and we shout in triumph. We know we haven’t really won anything, that this is at best, just another illusionary victory, but it feels good, and it might yet again be the beginning of something new and dangerous and great, a great omen for the future.
We cough again, in surroundings of teargas and steam and body fluids, and cry out in pain and rage, and it is a wonder to behold.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Saturday, May 19, 2007
A runaway elephant
Ekstrabladet writes about an elephant running away from a circus on Jylland, Denmark, where he had been held captive. It ran off and created chaos on the highway when it decided to stop on the road and rub an itch it had. What a fabulous sight it must have been. Chaos is always great to behold.
Unfortunately as it is the story has a tragic end: the elephant returned to his keepers. It has clearly been too ruined during his time in captivity to seek freedom above all else.
That it is still allowed to keep animals in any circus and in cages on pelt farms, and in laboratories is certainly yet another tragedy elevating the insanity of today’s society. The poor elephant experienced briefly the freedom that should have been a given, to him, to all of us.
This story is presented in a cheerful way in established media, a tiny slice of today’s reality designed to make people chuckle a bit, to make them tell themselves that existence is bearable, after all. Very few think much about the deeper aspects, the horrible consequences of it all.
Damn it, how I loathe the world’s jailers and torturers. My contempt for them is as deep as the ocean.
Unfortunately as it is the story has a tragic end: the elephant returned to his keepers. It has clearly been too ruined during his time in captivity to seek freedom above all else.
That it is still allowed to keep animals in any circus and in cages on pelt farms, and in laboratories is certainly yet another tragedy elevating the insanity of today’s society. The poor elephant experienced briefly the freedom that should have been a given, to him, to all of us.
This story is presented in a cheerful way in established media, a tiny slice of today’s reality designed to make people chuckle a bit, to make them tell themselves that existence is bearable, after all. Very few think much about the deeper aspects, the horrible consequences of it all.
Damn it, how I loathe the world’s jailers and torturers. My contempt for them is as deep as the ocean.
Gorilla on a rampage
A 180 kg gorilla climbed out of its enclosure at the Blijdorp Zoo in Rotterdam recently. After climbing up the enclosure wall it «ran amok» and bit a woman and injured three other people. The place was evacuated and closed while the gorilla was ganged up on by its keepers and sedated with a dart from a safe distance. The zoo that was filled with visitors reopened later that day.
People are again seemingly shocked at this display of savagery in captured animals, similar to the outrage they display when humans escape from prison. What do they expect? What part of «born to be wild» don’t they get? I certainly feel very antagonistic against anyone who would want to imprison me. So would any sane human being. Unfortunately sanity is in very short supply in today’s world.
People are again seemingly shocked at this display of savagery in captured animals, similar to the outrage they display when humans escape from prison. What do they expect? What part of «born to be wild» don’t they get? I certainly feel very antagonistic against anyone who would want to imprison me. So would any sane human being. Unfortunately sanity is in very short supply in today’s world.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Green
Green is here. Weeks of warm weather didn’t quite cut it, but days of rain after that did the job.
I love spring. Life is undeniable, irresistible then. No amount of oppression anywhere can hide its violent outbreak. Growth itself is wreaking havoc with our bodies, senses and mind. I see green in even the grayest of concrete, of Death. Loss, the loss of spirit is all around us, as it always is in civilization, but muted these days, not nearly as powerful as it seems in the death-sleep season.
The petrol vapor still lingers in the air, its bitter taste reminding us where we are. All the poison, mental and physical, released by current destructive human society is very much present. But its bite is less. These days, briefly, we can easier imagine a different world.
I see trees, and I see the forest. I see it as I walk up and down streets and alleys. I even see it in people’s eyes, briefly, this time of year, as many open their eyes in wonder, as they taste the forgotten and forbidden and catch the scent of life in the wind.
I love spring. People turn wild and daring before my eyes. Chains don’t break, but they turn brittle and weak… at least for a little while, and I enjoy the brief respite from the cold.
I love spring. Life is undeniable, irresistible then. No amount of oppression anywhere can hide its violent outbreak. Growth itself is wreaking havoc with our bodies, senses and mind. I see green in even the grayest of concrete, of Death. Loss, the loss of spirit is all around us, as it always is in civilization, but muted these days, not nearly as powerful as it seems in the death-sleep season.
The petrol vapor still lingers in the air, its bitter taste reminding us where we are. All the poison, mental and physical, released by current destructive human society is very much present. But its bite is less. These days, briefly, we can easier imagine a different world.
I see trees, and I see the forest. I see it as I walk up and down streets and alleys. I even see it in people’s eyes, briefly, this time of year, as many open their eyes in wonder, as they taste the forgotten and forbidden and catch the scent of life in the wind.
I love spring. People turn wild and daring before my eyes. Chains don’t break, but they turn brittle and weak… at least for a little while, and I enjoy the brief respite from the cold.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
New life
We held a small party for the tiny addition to out tribe recently, the son coming to us seven months ago. Why celebrate that he is seven months, you may ask? I say and we say why not?
He isn’t my biological son, but born by my sister across the table. I have previously written about how we see things concerning children and family in our Circle. Feel free to read it.
We are many around the table. The ruckus of the last few months has actually increased our number, and that pleases me, pleases me greatly. We celebrate and are enjoying ourselves, and the new life in our midst is filling us with joy and fire.
No one knows who his biological father is and no one cares, because all the males around the table are his father, just like all the females are his mothers. It is possible, possible to live a different life. There are countless examples of that. Societies like ours exist all over the world, societies where people live in a world of living dead. We are laughing heartily where we sit, where we toast and eat and sing and dance, and the tombstones surrounding us are fading in our hearts.
He isn’t my biological son, but born by my sister across the table. I have previously written about how we see things concerning children and family in our Circle. Feel free to read it.
We are many around the table. The ruckus of the last few months has actually increased our number, and that pleases me, pleases me greatly. We celebrate and are enjoying ourselves, and the new life in our midst is filling us with joy and fire.
No one knows who his biological father is and no one cares, because all the males around the table are his father, just like all the females are his mothers. It is possible, possible to live a different life. There are countless examples of that. Societies like ours exist all over the world, societies where people live in a world of living dead. We are laughing heartily where we sit, where we toast and eat and sing and dance, and the tombstones surrounding us are fading in our hearts.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
We walk through the streets
We walk through the streets as if we own them and we do. Not in the stupid sense that we have any legal claim on them, but because we’re dominating them. People stare at us with their lowered eyes, in their fear and shame, while we, holding our heads high, declare our pride to the world. Hundreds of us have been imprisoned and beaten by the police, by the tyrants’ bullies, and we’re still here.
We’re actually more here, now, than we used to be, than we’ve ever been. It’s remarkable, but not strange how liberating it is to stand up for ourselves, and to rise against oppression. They did their best to break us, but achieved the exact opposite result. Right now we’re not doing anything, anything overt to provoke them, except by our very presence. Justified pride has no place in today’s world. No true human emotion or humanity has.
A house is gone, but what it represents won’t go away. We carry it with us, forever. The authorities achieved nothing by brutally assaulting us, except alienating a bunch of young people. The older among us have found a lot of new friends on the radical venues throughout the city lately.
We sit there, in the smoke, in the mist, exchanging looks, men and women thrown together by coincidences and Fate. What doesn’t kill us or turn us into zombies, make us stronger. We feel it, in every single spot on our body and in our mind. They beat us up and believed they beat us, but we survived, not only with our mind and independence intact, but enhanced, with the fire inside having grown even stronger than before. We have grown and become more than we were. Thank you, Denmark. Thank you, Copenhagen.
We walk through the streets and we see fear in the police officers empty eyes.
We’re actually more here, now, than we used to be, than we’ve ever been. It’s remarkable, but not strange how liberating it is to stand up for ourselves, and to rise against oppression. They did their best to break us, but achieved the exact opposite result. Right now we’re not doing anything, anything overt to provoke them, except by our very presence. Justified pride has no place in today’s world. No true human emotion or humanity has.
A house is gone, but what it represents won’t go away. We carry it with us, forever. The authorities achieved nothing by brutally assaulting us, except alienating a bunch of young people. The older among us have found a lot of new friends on the radical venues throughout the city lately.
We sit there, in the smoke, in the mist, exchanging looks, men and women thrown together by coincidences and Fate. What doesn’t kill us or turn us into zombies, make us stronger. We feel it, in every single spot on our body and in our mind. They beat us up and believed they beat us, but we survived, not only with our mind and independence intact, but enhanced, with the fire inside having grown even stronger than before. We have grown and become more than we were. Thank you, Denmark. Thank you, Copenhagen.
We walk through the streets and we see fear in the police officers empty eyes.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Still here
The smoke clears and only a ruin remain. The Youth House is gone.
We, a bunch of us, stare at it with running eyes. But our tears are of defiance and rage. It is said that the ruin in front of us was just a house, and that is true. Even though it represented ideas and ideals it was merely a building, a material expression of something that the material can never express. What is inside us isn’t a place but a state of mind. It’s true. That evasive place of freedom is everywhere, in all true warriors’ heart and core.
Hundreds were arrested and jailed. How many will probably never be quite clear. I’ll certainly not trust the police to tell us the correct number. Many were arrested. Quite a few of them only passing by, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was among those not caught this time. But I have been arrested before, and I know how a cell looks like and feels like, both because I’ve seen the small cell from the inside and because I walk through the bigger prison of society every day.
I know what my friends and fellow warriors feel. I would, even if I hadn’t heard their cries of pain and desolation.
They threw everything at us, and we’re still here.
«We made a mistake», Information Officer Fleming Steen Munch in the Copenhagen police stated today, to Danish TV2.
They fired Ferret 40 teargas grenades at us, a brand that even the manufacturer, Defense Technologies describes as lethal, «if fired directly at people».
Our pal Fleming doesn’t mean it, of course. Police forces all over the world have a long history of coming up with insincere apologies after street battles. It’s one of their methods of softening the blow when facing a public at least partly seeing through their propaganda. Even a text-TV message on Norwegian television, in a rare show of honesty co-revealed, confirmed that the uniformed thugs attacked peaceful protests. Everybody knows what’s going on in the world, even the most thickheaded average citizen and watchdog. They know deep down. They have eyes and they can see. They have minds and they are able to think… even though they are not exercising that ability very much. They know what freedom of expression means, at least in a muddled part of their brains and core.
Workers are afraid. The religious zealots «legally» owning the ruin have a hard time finding people willing to work there, to build their house dedicated to intolerance and insanity.
Very good. The servants of tyranny should be afraid. They should look under their beds a dark night. The new, shiny house will in all probability be raised, under heavy guard from the thugs in armor. Experience tells us that. Their masters, in their smugness think they have won… again, but they haven’t, not really. This is merely one more battle of the thousands that have been, of the thousands to come.
They fired death at us, and hammered us with their clubs and viciousness and glee, and took us away in chains. We’re still here.
We’ll always be here.
We, a bunch of us, stare at it with running eyes. But our tears are of defiance and rage. It is said that the ruin in front of us was just a house, and that is true. Even though it represented ideas and ideals it was merely a building, a material expression of something that the material can never express. What is inside us isn’t a place but a state of mind. It’s true. That evasive place of freedom is everywhere, in all true warriors’ heart and core.
Hundreds were arrested and jailed. How many will probably never be quite clear. I’ll certainly not trust the police to tell us the correct number. Many were arrested. Quite a few of them only passing by, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was among those not caught this time. But I have been arrested before, and I know how a cell looks like and feels like, both because I’ve seen the small cell from the inside and because I walk through the bigger prison of society every day.
I know what my friends and fellow warriors feel. I would, even if I hadn’t heard their cries of pain and desolation.
They threw everything at us, and we’re still here.
«We made a mistake», Information Officer Fleming Steen Munch in the Copenhagen police stated today, to Danish TV2.
They fired Ferret 40 teargas grenades at us, a brand that even the manufacturer, Defense Technologies describes as lethal, «if fired directly at people».
Our pal Fleming doesn’t mean it, of course. Police forces all over the world have a long history of coming up with insincere apologies after street battles. It’s one of their methods of softening the blow when facing a public at least partly seeing through their propaganda. Even a text-TV message on Norwegian television, in a rare show of honesty co-revealed, confirmed that the uniformed thugs attacked peaceful protests. Everybody knows what’s going on in the world, even the most thickheaded average citizen and watchdog. They know deep down. They have eyes and they can see. They have minds and they are able to think… even though they are not exercising that ability very much. They know what freedom of expression means, at least in a muddled part of their brains and core.
Workers are afraid. The religious zealots «legally» owning the ruin have a hard time finding people willing to work there, to build their house dedicated to intolerance and insanity.
Very good. The servants of tyranny should be afraid. They should look under their beds a dark night. The new, shiny house will in all probability be raised, under heavy guard from the thugs in armor. Experience tells us that. Their masters, in their smugness think they have won… again, but they haven’t, not really. This is merely one more battle of the thousands that have been, of the thousands to come.
They fired death at us, and hammered us with their clubs and viciousness and glee, and took us away in chains. We’re still here.
We’ll always be here.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Smoke
Radio Baghdad from Copenhagen today:
I’m coughing constantly. I have been coughing all day. We were given word quite early that «something was up». The behavior of the Copenhagen police has gone from bad to worse lately. The people ruling these bullies, those sending them on their missions have turned ever more aggressive both in language and use of power the last year, even more so than during the last twenty years.
So, when the bullies, also the «anti-terror police» charged Ungdomshuset (the Youth House) in Copenhagen none of us was surprised. We’re just wondering why they waited so long.
They threw out the people living there, using water cannons and a helicopter, and all the equipment the bullies of tyranny generally has at hand.
I don’t have much time. I’m sitting on an Internet café, scribbling something. There are rumors that the bullies will close down places like this soon. The situation has exploded all over the city in such a short span of time. Traffic and streets have been closed. Street fights are happening everywhere. The train connections in and out of Copenhagen have been stopped. The police are holding Ungdomshuset, but they are besieged by an enraged gathering.
There is smoke everywhere, and I’m coughing, but I’m laughing, as well. I’m enjoying myself, not because Ungdomshuset has been cleaned, but because so many refuse to take it anymore, refuse to accept that society’s cleaners act the way they do. They have been getting away with so much. Hopefully they’re gonna get it this time. I shout at them and stand against them, like so many others. The clueless ordinary people we’re passing on the street look terrified at us and at their surroundings. One of them shouts that World War 3 has begun.
I fervently hope he’s correct.
Radio Baghdad from Copenhagen tonight:
Smoke and teargas are lingering in the air. There are fires everywhere. Garbage and ruined, burning cars and buildings with broken windows surround us wherever we look. We fight the police using our meager tools, but we fight and we keep fighting. Did they expect this, this much resistance? I think they expected a bit and planned for it, and even wanted it, wanted to teach us a lesson, but even though they will retain the upper hand, of course, with their superior numbers and armaments, and a corrupt society behind them, they have clearly overreached themselves today, tonight. We shout our triumph from the rooftops.
It’s a war zone. Even the established media says so. Princess Street, The Square and large parts of the city. Copenhagen is on Fire.
I keep coughing, and my eyes are flooded in tears, but they are tears of rage. The Square is filled with people, and we will continue to fight through the night, the weekend and beyond. People are coming to aid us from near and far, and I welcome them, welcome them all. This isn’t just about the house, this city or any, isolated incident. This is about us, and all people standing up for themselves against tyranny, the tyranny that is virtually everywhere today.
I hide out in a dark apartment, writing this. I will go back out soon. Don’t expect to hear from me again for a while.
Hopefully this will be yet another beginning of countless beginnings, to change the world. We can hope and do our best, for this to be the start of the one, true war: that against oppression and tyranny, especially the oppression and tyranny cloaked in benevolence and illusion. The tyrants and their watchdogs say people living in the western democracies are lucky and shouldn’t complain, shouldn’t go to so-called extremes like we do tonight.
They would say that, of course.
That is their pitch, their propaganda. They say protesters are violent merely because they are defending themselves. They say protesters are misguided or terrorists or whatever term is the current derogatory buzzword. I don’t believe it, believe them. And neither does anybody else gathered here tonight. Neither do millions of others in various countries seeing through their lies and conceit. This is an ongoing war, not constrained to a single nation or even a single string of events, but something happening everywhere, and I am very happy, extremely pleased to be a part of it.
I’m coughing constantly. I have been coughing all day. We were given word quite early that «something was up». The behavior of the Copenhagen police has gone from bad to worse lately. The people ruling these bullies, those sending them on their missions have turned ever more aggressive both in language and use of power the last year, even more so than during the last twenty years.
So, when the bullies, also the «anti-terror police» charged Ungdomshuset (the Youth House) in Copenhagen none of us was surprised. We’re just wondering why they waited so long.
They threw out the people living there, using water cannons and a helicopter, and all the equipment the bullies of tyranny generally has at hand.
I don’t have much time. I’m sitting on an Internet café, scribbling something. There are rumors that the bullies will close down places like this soon. The situation has exploded all over the city in such a short span of time. Traffic and streets have been closed. Street fights are happening everywhere. The train connections in and out of Copenhagen have been stopped. The police are holding Ungdomshuset, but they are besieged by an enraged gathering.
There is smoke everywhere, and I’m coughing, but I’m laughing, as well. I’m enjoying myself, not because Ungdomshuset has been cleaned, but because so many refuse to take it anymore, refuse to accept that society’s cleaners act the way they do. They have been getting away with so much. Hopefully they’re gonna get it this time. I shout at them and stand against them, like so many others. The clueless ordinary people we’re passing on the street look terrified at us and at their surroundings. One of them shouts that World War 3 has begun.
I fervently hope he’s correct.
Radio Baghdad from Copenhagen tonight:
Smoke and teargas are lingering in the air. There are fires everywhere. Garbage and ruined, burning cars and buildings with broken windows surround us wherever we look. We fight the police using our meager tools, but we fight and we keep fighting. Did they expect this, this much resistance? I think they expected a bit and planned for it, and even wanted it, wanted to teach us a lesson, but even though they will retain the upper hand, of course, with their superior numbers and armaments, and a corrupt society behind them, they have clearly overreached themselves today, tonight. We shout our triumph from the rooftops.
It’s a war zone. Even the established media says so. Princess Street, The Square and large parts of the city. Copenhagen is on Fire.
I keep coughing, and my eyes are flooded in tears, but they are tears of rage. The Square is filled with people, and we will continue to fight through the night, the weekend and beyond. People are coming to aid us from near and far, and I welcome them, welcome them all. This isn’t just about the house, this city or any, isolated incident. This is about us, and all people standing up for themselves against tyranny, the tyranny that is virtually everywhere today.
I hide out in a dark apartment, writing this. I will go back out soon. Don’t expect to hear from me again for a while.
Hopefully this will be yet another beginning of countless beginnings, to change the world. We can hope and do our best, for this to be the start of the one, true war: that against oppression and tyranny, especially the oppression and tyranny cloaked in benevolence and illusion. The tyrants and their watchdogs say people living in the western democracies are lucky and shouldn’t complain, shouldn’t go to so-called extremes like we do tonight.
They would say that, of course.
That is their pitch, their propaganda. They say protesters are violent merely because they are defending themselves. They say protesters are misguided or terrorists or whatever term is the current derogatory buzzword. I don’t believe it, believe them. And neither does anybody else gathered here tonight. Neither do millions of others in various countries seeing through their lies and conceit. This is an ongoing war, not constrained to a single nation or even a single string of events, but something happening everywhere, and I am very happy, extremely pleased to be a part of it.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Spring Dance
The scent of spring burns in our nostrils. Feet hammer the ground. Drums beat our hearts. In the circle we dance. In the dance we sing. Our other sounds are blacked out. All other sounds are surrounding us. We hear the whistle of the forest in the crystal clear, misty air. Fire dances in our eyes. Our fire eyes burn through everything, echoing the molten sea in our veins. The Song of spring makes us deaf, and we hear better than ever. Naked bodies dance to the beat of the forest. I am Maxine the witch, and I fill myself. I drink from a cup never empty. The wolf is calling me home. I hear its call, and I heed its crystal clear voice. Voices of the circle dance respond, crying out in wild abandon, letting go of everything not life.
It's January. Branches are sprouting. The fields are turning green, here in the far, far north. We know the terrible and joyous song: The Earth is calling us home. The tribe dances to the rhythm of the noisy night.
The wolf meets me in the forest glen. My spirit meets me. I face it, I feel it, in every beat of my heart, every drop of blood flowing through my veins.
The Song thunders through the night, through the gray office spaces of current, half dead humanity.
We sing, and it is a song both silent and loud. Listen. Listen to the true voice of the Human Being.
THOSE NOT BUSY BEING BORN ARE BUSY DYING
THOSE NOT BUSY BEING BORN ARE BUSY DYING
THOSE NOT BUSY BEING BORN ARE BUSY DYING
THOSE NOT BUSY BEING BORN ARE BUSY DYING
THOSE NOT BUSY BEING BORN ARE BUSY DYING
It's January. Branches are sprouting. The fields are turning green, here in the far, far north. We know the terrible and joyous song: The Earth is calling us home. The tribe dances to the rhythm of the noisy night.
The wolf meets me in the forest glen. My spirit meets me. I face it, I feel it, in every beat of my heart, every drop of blood flowing through my veins.
The Song thunders through the night, through the gray office spaces of current, half dead humanity.
We sing, and it is a song both silent and loud. Listen. Listen to the true voice of the Human Being.
THOSE NOT BUSY BEING BORN ARE BUSY DYING
THOSE NOT BUSY BEING BORN ARE BUSY DYING
THOSE NOT BUSY BEING BORN ARE BUSY DYING
THOSE NOT BUSY BEING BORN ARE BUSY DYING
THOSE NOT BUSY BEING BORN ARE BUSY DYING
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