LONDON 2012: DEATH TO THE GODS OF MOUNT OLYMPUS!
Issue 7 of Savage Messiah magazine. Many thanks to Laura for sending this to me.
Lovely drawings and some really great writing:
"Drifting through Dalston is to traverse a network of holding patterns, a city in stasis, it is a city of film stills, waiting rooms, a world behind it and another one to come. In the fabric of the architecture I uncover traces and palimpsets, the poly-temporality of the city. As I lay my palm flat against the wall I buffer multiple traces of past workings and reworkings, the polychromatic riot of London's histories travel in shimmering, tangled lines..."
I'm not a Londoner, but there's a whole bunch of stuff in here that's v. close to my own heart: the mass disappearance of parts of my own history, the pubs and clubs and cafes I used to drink in, the back-alleys I used to piss in, torn dn and replaced by generic granny-flats and retail-chains...welcome to Identikit Britain...they're ripping down our dreams and memories, creating the illusion of choice, of a false 'newness'...we need to celebrate and document what's ours before it's all taken away from us...
posted by I am not Kek-w @ 4:02 PM
2 Comments:
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I can relate to that. You can see everything disappearing like long-shore drift every day. It's quite frightening. I talk to this little old lady on the bus every day on the way to work and she's 98 and she goes swimming every day (makes me feel so guilty). She remembers when the swimming pool had a big wooden pulley system where the pool would be covered and they ballroom danced on it. Over the water. I got a tear in my eye when she told me that. I wonder where that world has gone. They're going to knock it down and replace it with flats in a few weeks. I started going swimming with her just out of respect for her time really. We're losing something great about our world...slowly crumbling. The kind of wet basket smell of lost times. The lovely autumnal faces that talk to each other on buses. Kind, wrinkly hands that shake yours. Newspaper smells of vinegar and chips. Not rose coloured spectacles, but just a yearning for friendship and kind passings I think.
Everyday 'goodmornings' - days that start with hello and end with goodbye. Simplicity and street names. That kind of thing. Not pushandshove and pull down houses, multi-floor, shopping centre life. It's a bit depressing really. Corona Limeade life. Bring it back I say!
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