It is sweeter to wander with the wretched and outcasts than to sit crowned with roses at the banquets of the rich
Elisee Reclus

Friday, September 23, 2005


'I used to know a little, now I know a lot. No matter where I go, I still know where I came from'.
It's been a while. Did we break out? Did we return from exile? That's the theme that's inherent here. Had I forgotten you? Well, no. How could I? You and I are constantly dealing with each other. The just-robbed guy passing by the bus stops in Shoreditch. The Government Inspector passing by my place of exile to appy the 'Verification Procedure' to me in my happy home. The needs of a Yoga Teacher. The needs of a friend. The misery of those locked down in London contradictions (who are not me and so I begin to understand them more)...but there has been once sense of returning home...
And so we return to The Mysteries. Once again, we return. If you were paying attention, we talking the mysteries of communication between men and women, but this extends to those mysteries and confusions, hesistations and outfight fears between human beings. It also takes in the mystery of communication between this and you. And the silence that stands in that space. Micro-silence. Or. Large chunks of pain and disappeared voices, angry silence, fucked up somewhere silence, getting over silence. Or. thank god for this silence...
Okay, so Ruinist is happy, fighting for lover and in her arms. The complications are right now loaded up in other places...
Dare I talk of flow? Do I talk about this? I can't contradict what is happening but placing random feelings, sensations, tastes...intuitions and the shakes...the other, the duality, the, that's immediately breaking flow..defining...reporting back from my front line. This isn't journalism..not even writing sometimes, more just typing. And I add that line to speak out to far include the TOTAL TOTALITY lest I try to enclose myself. No, there isn't much to say. Ruinist is happy. Work with that much.
There remains much to be said on the state of being exiled..(regardless of the state of 'self-exile'..but more on that later...something quite by chance that surfaced from a comrade who we met every two years somewhere in London by accident but always a happy accident..more later, maybe?)...
We are talking a deep sense of un-belonging. And this is from various factors or infinite vectors. A sense of exile, not fitting in, running away from..culture, class, age, gender and all fedback to the present economic regime and its desperate twisting of what is in everybody's heads - Belonging (to a simple human community where things fit, minds fit). Not to be a appendage of money making. Not be imperialistic on all fronts (on space, on bodies, on brains...) Not to be obsessed by it all. Not to be deluded by things. Not to be automatically individual. Not to waste one moment of humanity...sharing, loving, living and dying. NOT WASTING IT ALL.

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