Unbelonging.

I feel like anything I say right now will be used against me. I haven’t bothered to post my photographs from Friday’s demos. I hate the surveillance drones and the helicopters… true. But I’m not keen on going out with the protesters anymore either. The images of news boxes dragged into the street isn’t victorious to me… it’s just ridiculous… and I’m not sure what the message being sent is when people’s cars are being spraypainted for being stuck in traffic. I mean, wasn’t that the point? To cause a traffic jam? Or was it the point to penalize bystanders?

There’s a debate buzzing on Facebook about Shane Koyczan and his performance at the Olympic opening and while most people agree that Brad Cran has shown more integrity, the general feeling is “I would have done it if I had the chance.” Meanwhile I know I wouldn’t have done it back in my days of performing… the Flying Folk often wrestled with questions of who we took money from and where we played… the discomfort of protest messages in various venues tested in a way that Shane chose not to. Perhaps he feels there is nothing left to say now that the mob’s rolled into town. If you can’t fight em join em! Right?

I am angry about the Olympics, no doubt. The waste, the nationalism, the creepy macho drinking culture that has taken over downtown. I had an experience on the bus Saturday afternoon that left me aware that if this was pushed just a little further I would have been raped by the five men who cornered me rather than just harassed. If this was war instead of sports I wouldn’t have made it off that bus at all. It’s occupation by the small-mindedness of flag wavers, it’s colonization by those with money over the rest of the city who cower and wait for things to be finished. I’m just lucky I have a home to go to, not being held hostage by those who would drink on the street that is my bed, pissing on or picking a fight with. It’s all joviality until you refuse to put on the red mittens and toss back a few.

So my neighbouhood is a haven, not far from the PNE but it’s pretty easy to ignore up here if you tune the helicopters out. Very few people around have hung flags. Mostly it feels pretty normal and I wish I didn’t have to go back down to it tomorrow where it feels like the corporate virus it is. Money, product, competition without room for compassion, love, warmth. It’s so cold down there amongst the glass towers and the glassy-eyed families looking for any opportunity to buy a piece of the Olympic legend in the form of a stuffed doll or pair socks adorned with the rings.

It’s left me at odds with everyone, this fucked up sporting event. Protesters, poets, the people I work with. I’m just waiting it out today and the next ten. Planning my studio, planting flowers in the garden where spring will come out once the hordes have gone home. Some circus, I’d like to click my shiny black pumps right now and be done with it. There’s no place for me but home.