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A lil' story about a plan for liberating ourselves from those that limit our creativity.


Night of Freedom

He'd just told me to leave the area. If I would have refused he would have arrested me, "For your own safety" he told me. I complied, even though the notion of being told I couldn't be somewhere in my own town did slightly repulse me. But I wasn't phased, they don't know the plan.
I walked towards the main shopping street. It was ten O'clock, and I was stood under the illuminated clock waiting to meet someone. A person I had met once. I knew obviously that she was a socialist like me. All of The Thirty where to some extent. She spoke as it she was a leader, I disliked her for this. But when she proposed action aimed at those restricting our life, I saw her in a different light. She made a slightly pretentious speech. But that is, I'm sad to say, a vice many a socialist shares. Even I have delved into that pot once or twice.
Another vice of those in my political frame of mind is how we suit ourselves out. I am reminded of this as I see her coming down the stairs to the shopping gallery. She does fit the typical left-wing stereotype to the letter. Some kind of scarf that symbolizes something left-wing, some kind of body-modification of the visual kind, dark clothes and for shoes Doc Martins, vans or converse.
-"Hi there." She says as she looks around with a certain nervousness.
-"Where are the rest of us?" I ask.
-"They are waiting near the factory", she replies.
-"So. How are you?"
She takes a pause.
-"Not that great actually." She says.
-"What's wrong." I ask.
She tells me that her friend saw the agenda of The Thirty. Her friend had expressed the opinion that, just because they are "our" streets. We don't have the right to do what we please to our, in our communal space.
-"Do you agree with her then?" I ask.
-"No", she replies.
-"What's the problem then?"
-"Just because I don't agree with her doesn't mean that her opinion didn't raise questions to whether what we are doing is actually right." She explained with a slightly disturbed facial expression.
-"I suppose not. But what should we, according to her, be doing if we want a more colourful open city that has our impressions on it's facade instead of that of rampant commercialism?"
-"I guess that she thinks that we should buy our right to the space?" She hypothesizes.
-"Exactly, that's what it all boils down to isn't it? It's not the question of if we are doing the right thing. It's the question of if someone with money, without even touching how the money is earned, has more right to our space because money has passed hands. We the general public may not have payed for the space, but in many ways we do keep the city running. Is that not worth more?" I say this and then look down at my watch with a certain worry.
-"We are going to be late." I state.
We start walking for about five minutes and we arrive at the factory. We enter a courtyard and see around fifteen of The Thirty chatting in the damp, dark corner. We close the cast-iron gate behind us with a creak. This brings our presence to the groups attention. We walk over to them across the damp floor taking care not to trip over any of the planks and stones lying on the floor. The group are mostly young people. The exception being a couple of around fifty years making this observation untrue. I had met most of the people here before at our various meetings leading up to the event. I walk up to the older strangers.
-"My name is Issak."
-"Hello, I'm John and this is Joshua."
-"Nice to meet you, I heard toy are one of the founders of The Thirty." Joshua adds.
-"Yes, I am. I and about four other, Terry other there for example. We created the collective about a year ago."
-"We just joined about a week ago." John mentions.
-"It's good to see some older people that share our ideals to be honest."
They go on to tell me how they grew used up as activists but stopped in their early thirties. This was their way of getting back into the kind of activism that they used to enjoy. We are interrupted by the opening of the meeting. Not surprisingly, by the woman that I met before the meeting. The leader tendencies showing to some extent.
-"I propose that we open the meeting in preparation of our first collective action. All in favor?" She says with an assertive voice.
The courtyard is filled with the sound of the group responding with a yes.
-"I Elisabeth am proposing that we follow the revolving meeting chair system which says that I am to act as chair for the duration of this meeting."
The group agree. The first point on the agenda is to go over the goal of tonight's action.
-"As agreed as per last week, we have stated that the goal of this action is to shed light onto our will and ability to excersise our right to artistic expression on the facade of our city. Also to make our view of society one which is expressed to outsiders through our show of artistry. Do we agree that this is till the goal of tonight?" She says without taking a pause.
Yet again the group agrees and collectively mutter a yes.
-"Does anyone have anything else to add before I declare the plan in motion?" She asks.
Everyone agrees, as if this was what they were waiting to hear. The group is now split into five different groups.

I am grouped up with Elisabeth, Terry and a friend called Joe. I know Terry since secondary school. Joe I have known for about a year. Me and Terry started doing graffiti when we where fifteen. Back then we were more into it for the sheer adrenaline kick when a copper was in pursuit, the comradery when were panting from the same chase after we were out of the coppers line of sight. We had never heard of socialism. We never thought that we might actually have a right to do it. Hell, we may never have started if we thought it wasn't necessarily wrong. That sentiment soon passed and we learnt of the ideology that we now where devoted to. Expressed through defacing sexist posters that just wanted us to be urged into consuming, in our late teens. My fight for our communal space started when I started university. Helped by not being brainwashed into conformity by the several useless teachers that had made my days at college a waste of time. When I got into University I started to ask, why should I conform to the proposed pretense that expression of art in public spaces was to be limited to the will of those with money and power.
We had reached our station. We were in a cramped doorway overlooking a "business park". It was cold and we were dressed for the occasion. We where all in this for ideology, so none of us really noticed this fact. Apart from the sound of a siren whizzing past us, half frightening us that we had been sold out, it was uneventful for the first half-hour.
-"So Elisabeth, what got you into this?" Terry asks breaking the silence.
-"It was just pure luck really. I would love to say that I was born a libertarian socialist with an interest for our form of street-art. I know that I could just as well have shared my brothers views on society. The very notion of street-art repulses him. I was just lucky to have met the right people at the right time and befriended them really." She says with a look of confusion on her face.
-"I've always been into art, me and Terry stared doing graffiti around when we where fifteen." I say.
-"We all kn..." Terry is interrupted by a noise coming from the walky-talky.
We then see a bright flash of light.
-"Shit, that's the cue! You all ready?" Elisabeth says with a sense of urgency.
We all answer yes and kick into action. Terry and Joe run off with their bags on their backs. Me and Elisabeth both take out a tank of gasoline each from our backpacks and then I look at Elisabeth.
-"Wanna go to the bank then?" I ask Elisabeth.
The bank is a huge glass building, a monstrosity of a thing. We get there and see a truck with a reinforced front pull up next to us.
-"Right Sac?" A man ask's from within the car.
-"I'm fine Os, you ready?"
He nods and the car backs up, aligning itself with the buildings front. We get into the back of the vehicle and we hear a voice on the walky-talky.
-"We're all in position. Let's go!"
As we speed into the glass panels that are the front of the building, I can't help but say,
-"I fucking love my life."




Prosa (Novell) av The intellectual moron
Läst 460 gånger
Publicerad 2011-12-18 01:58



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The intellectual moron