Scrapbook [30/06/19]
“Crackles- muffled sounds– overlaid skeins, overlaid maps– routes plotted, routes navigated. Mossy brick walls, ferns erupting in the cracks.
Bombsites, derelict wharves, climbing through fences into forgotten gardens.
We are propelled, the beat of the walk, a blazing conduit- through arcadian groves of broken paving stones, arches of jasmine and lilac.”
Dusk in the garden; bricks in the heat. No more money left in this world; the glass shattered, the chrome rusted... What now?
"Art and music is where you begin. How you feel in an ecstatic club/rave moment, how you feel when you hear a really heartbreaking song – that feeling is your own. That little thread of energy – that's your voice. No one else owns that. That can be the starting point where you can formulate an opposition to the things that make you feel shit." - Jack Latham, Dummy
“Sometimes the edge of the city folds back in, the liminal emerges in the centre. It is in these gaps where political life emerges as a current, where excluded voices become audible. In the stickers, flyposters, scrawls and scratches the expression of a collective unconscious can be read.” - We move amongst ghosts, Laura Grace Ford, Verso.
