ALL YR PRIVATE PROPERTY IS TARGET FOR YR ENEMY

With all the smoke I could muster in my vocal chords I wanted to express how basically these themes keep reoccurring…

It’s like, lest I ever get too caught up in my delusions of personal joys and daily rituals of carefree ease…there will always be the world’s largest wagging finger…whether it’s in this case family past ghosts of personal confrontations with them, or some other form of boss, an innocent bystander, a cop or anything else, they want so urgently to remind me that this world is theirs, but it is not mine. That Amerika is the country we live in, but it is not my nation nor the nation of people like me who see no value in subtly arrogant domination or amassing as much bullshit as once can accumulate over one wasted lifetime.

Some people in my demographic (twenty something, weirdo artist city dwelling suburban transplant types) tend to ignore this tension. They seem to think that the crumbs we get constitute some sort of veritable meal or sustenance. But I am constantly barraged with the fact that though I can maintain little instances of happiness, love and personal freedoms, the world is full of property that I will never own, don’t really want anyways, but my lack of it gets lorded over me like a muzzle. What little I do have I steal (my house), or my parents have given to me (my car) under the delusions that I’ll live some straight life of common aspirations, dream dreamless sleep, believe in a banal god, ignore my angst or dreams of stirring love-for-life in the name of keeping it tucked away in a little property. It is so clear to me that nothing will be mine, for I inhabit the realm of the abstract, of endless nights of rage and improbable dreams of clench-teethed freedom far away from the common amerikan conception of freedom that makes the word stink unbearably, (anyways, most concepts we know and should cherish have been impossibly perverted by those that claim to own the world and use the words to farther their domination over those who dissent).

How do we get it back? If we just fight harder and push farther what would happen? Are we not trying hard enough or are the mechanisms way too vast? Who knows but when my guts get knotted up with awkward anger at the mention of bullshit responsibility that I’ll never feel an inkling or kinship for I just know that it means something, that some part of me still stirs with the desire to claim a stake in demolishing a world that was never meant for me, and do something, anything else.

With all the smoke I could muster in my vocal chords I wanted to express how basically these themes keep reoccurring…

It’s like, lest I ever get too caught up in my delusions of personal joys and daily rituals of carefree ease…there will always be the world’s largest wagging finger…whether it’s in this case family past ghosts of personal confrontations with them, or some other form of boss, an innocent bystander, a cop or anything else, they want so urgently to remind me that this world is theirs, but it is not mine. That Amerika is the country we live in, but it is not my nation nor the nation of people like me who see no value in subtly arrogant domination or amassing as much bullshit as once can accumulate over one wasted lifetime.

Some people in my demographic (twenty something, weirdo artist city dwelling suburban transplant types) tend to ignore this tension. They seem to think that the crumbs we get constitute some sort of veritable meal or sustenance. But I am constantly barraged with the fact that though I can maintain little instances of happiness, love and personal freedoms, the world is full of property that I will never own, don’t really want anyways, but my lack of it gets lorded over me like a muzzle. What little I do have I steal (my house), or my parents have given to me (my car) under the delusions that I’ll live some straight life of common aspirations, dream dreamless sleep, believe in a banal god, ignore my angst or dreams of stirring love-for-life in the name of keeping it tucked away in a little property. It is so clear to me that nothing will be mine, for I inhabit the realm of the abstract, of endless nights of rage and improbable dreams of clench-teethed freedom far away from the common amerikan conception of freedom that makes the word stink unbearably, (anyways, most concepts we know and should cherish have been impossibly perverted by those that claim to own the world and use the words to farther their domination over those who dissent).

How do we get it back? If we just fight harder and push farther what would happen? Are we not trying hard enough or are the mechanisms way too vast? Who knows but when my nuts get knotted up with awkward anger at the mention of bullshit responsibility that I’ll never feel an inkling or kinship for I just know that it means something, that some part of me still stirs with the desire to claim a stake in demolishing a world that was never meant for me, and do something, anything else.

Next Meet Up...

...is going to be Sunday, February 6 at 1pm at Black Bear Bakery. Bring poems, bring a lively demeanor, be there or be a square...

http://kwur.bandcamp.com/album/little-big-bangs-stack-session

s'shameless plug yo. hey dude, LUZ official kick off party in march for real, keep yr ears peeled... with some-a-thoes ear peelers..

coordination

hey everyone. this past tuesday there was a meeting at cranky yellow to talk about booking shows in st. louis in general. there will be a series of these types of meetings, so that we (thoes interested in booking shows and general entertainment) can meet eachother, see what everyone is doing, bounce ideas off of eachother, and just hang out. the focus is on diy spaces. this is an attempt to coordinate shows more effectively. a few of us brought up in this meeting that a "good" scene can't be forced but rather it is somthing that happens naturally when we all feel connected to eachother and trust eachother enough to act collectively. and when we have that power, we can respond to anything... and put on some killer shows. one example that was brought up was the scene here in 2005. why was it booming then? one big reason could be because people were connected by the anti-war movement. the same people who went to protests were also in bands singing about it. they were connected by an idea. so anyway there will be another meeting next tuesday the 18th. anyone is welcome and i hope you can make it out.

New Year's Prison Noise Demo

On New Year’s Eve we gathered with around 35 friends to hold a noise demonstration outside the Hogan Street Regional Youth Center in St. Louis. Just before midnight, a torch lit procession made its way to the former school turned prison where for a brief moment the night was illuminated by fireworks and the exuberant joy of children’s smiling faces. Jumping silhouettes behind the dormitory windows echoed our exhilaration in the street below. A resounding cry of “Our passion for freedom is stronger than their prisons!” filled the air as two banners were hung on the fence of the youth detention center – “Every jail is an abuse” and “2011: Year of the breakout.”

This particular place of confinement has seen several successful escape attempts in recent years, one of which involved nine rebellious and freedom loving kids.

In St. Louis city jails, which have also been the sites of individual and collective escapes, the pigs have been callously denying needed medical attention resulting in several deaths. This fact was on all of our minds that night along side the unprecedented five day state wide prisoner strike in Georgia last month; the former pointing toward the necessity and the latter to the potential of a renewed collective struggle against prisons and the society that produces them.

A text circulated around the demonstration called for just such a struggle while acknowledging the divisions between us (both the physical walls separating inside and out and the social boundaries isolating us from each other) and the need to overcome those divisions through a common fight against our common misery. Graffiti, spotted in the neighborhood of the kid prison, suggested a few directions in which to channel our collective rage:

BURN THE BANKS, DESTROY THE PRISONS

AGAINST ALL PRISONS (A) and POTOSI WILL BURN (A)

Although lasting only four or five minutes, this small action and its recognition by the kids inside was a step towards re-building our confidence and creating momentum in the streets. We hope to continue taking such steps and find others walking with us in the months and years to come.

For Iole, Davide and the twins.

- some anarchists