Its quite fortunate (in a respect) that this be my first post, as today has already been quite eventful.
So I live in what was recently described, by a popular free london newspaper (aka the carpet to wipe your feet on as you get on the bus) as a "commune" in south east London near Elephant and Castle. To be honest when I personally think of a commune, images pop up in the mind of fields, tassles, sunshine, free love, hemp rugs etc. Basically hippie shit. Now where I live, yes there is a patch of grass to the left of house and not far away is the beautiful and not at all unsafe paradise that is Burgess park (we swam in the pond once!), and we do have carpets which are really the modern day version of a rug. But I think we got sun for a week this year, and if anyone dare bring a tassle into this building I swear... So my point being that apart from a large number of highly sexed people all huddled together in unsanitary conditions, it's not really what I'd choose to call a commune.
Now this so-called artist commune, or rather dirty poop squat, sadly does not belong to me or any of my 14 other housemates. In fact, we have no right really to even be here (except that we own the world! yeah! freedom! anarchy!) And today the lovely man who does seem to own the building, we refer to him simply as The Man, came over to have a look at the building. Now we have met The Man a few times, and although he has been, what some might call a little abrasive in the past, he up to now (it's been 2 and a bit years) hasn't actually asked us to leave. He's threatened and made up weird things like moving in some random street woman, who turned out be as real as Tyra's weave. But it seems the stinky street winds have changed and highly unstable old property around the Walworth rd is totally hot right now, and as we know everyone loves living around a billion crackheads and obese kids who smash your windows with rotting vegetables, and market stalls where every single piece of produce that is being sold, is knowingly completely past any form of best before date (most probably the source of said vegetables). And the most notable thing to come from the infamous double moped shooting in our local Costcutter, was the free bottle of cherry Lambrini we received from the store (which was ace!).
Finally The Man has got his wicked way, and has managed to get the planning permision last week to destroy our beloved home, to tear the our family apart, to squish our Squallyoaks! We may have a week, we may have two, but at some point in the very near future we will be homeless. Sad times. Or are they? Now I know it's a little weird but for some reason the prospect of my home being ripped from right under me doesn't fill me with the fear that the rest of my squatmates seem to feel. I mean yeah, obviously I'm pissed about the inconveniance and I'm sure it hasn't really sunk in yet, but in a way I'm quite excited about the moving on, the change, which is an amazing feet for some one who, as a child, could barely deal with changing the channel without worrying he was going to miss something big.
This house is amazing to live in, especially for free, although maybe not as helpfull to my self-progression as one might hope. I think living with too many people you actually like and enjoy the company of, is suprisingly detramental to your personal motivation. Basically there is always some decent chat to distract you from your daily goals. Always a mate to moan with about how you haven't done anything today. Always someone to mutually procrastinate with. Whatever who needs motivation. All i need is the idiot box, the idiot juice, the idiot dust, my idiot house mates, and maybe, just maybe a roof for it all to happen under would be pretty handy.
So I live in what was recently described, by a popular free london newspaper (aka the carpet to wipe your feet on as you get on the bus) as a "commune" in south east London near Elephant and Castle. To be honest when I personally think of a commune, images pop up in the mind of fields, tassles, sunshine, free love, hemp rugs etc. Basically hippie shit. Now where I live, yes there is a patch of grass to the left of house and not far away is the beautiful and not at all unsafe paradise that is Burgess park (we swam in the pond once!), and we do have carpets which are really the modern day version of a rug. But I think we got sun for a week this year, and if anyone dare bring a tassle into this building I swear... So my point being that apart from a large number of highly sexed people all huddled together in unsanitary conditions, it's not really what I'd choose to call a commune.
Now this so-called artist commune, or rather dirty poop squat, sadly does not belong to me or any of my 14 other housemates. In fact, we have no right really to even be here (except that we own the world! yeah! freedom! anarchy!) And today the lovely man who does seem to own the building, we refer to him simply as The Man, came over to have a look at the building. Now we have met The Man a few times, and although he has been, what some might call a little abrasive in the past, he up to now (it's been 2 and a bit years) hasn't actually asked us to leave. He's threatened and made up weird things like moving in some random street woman, who turned out be as real as Tyra's weave. But it seems the stinky street winds have changed and highly unstable old property around the Walworth rd is totally hot right now, and as we know everyone loves living around a billion crackheads and obese kids who smash your windows with rotting vegetables, and market stalls where every single piece of produce that is being sold, is knowingly completely past any form of best before date (most probably the source of said vegetables). And the most notable thing to come from the infamous double moped shooting in our local Costcutter, was the free bottle of cherry Lambrini we received from the store (which was ace!).
Finally The Man has got his wicked way, and has managed to get the planning permision last week to destroy our beloved home, to tear the our family apart, to squish our Squallyoaks! We may have a week, we may have two, but at some point in the very near future we will be homeless. Sad times. Or are they? Now I know it's a little weird but for some reason the prospect of my home being ripped from right under me doesn't fill me with the fear that the rest of my squatmates seem to feel. I mean yeah, obviously I'm pissed about the inconveniance and I'm sure it hasn't really sunk in yet, but in a way I'm quite excited about the moving on, the change, which is an amazing feet for some one who, as a child, could barely deal with changing the channel without worrying he was going to miss something big.
This house is amazing to live in, especially for free, although maybe not as helpfull to my self-progression as one might hope. I think living with too many people you actually like and enjoy the company of, is suprisingly detramental to your personal motivation. Basically there is always some decent chat to distract you from your daily goals. Always a mate to moan with about how you haven't done anything today. Always someone to mutually procrastinate with. Whatever who needs motivation. All i need is the idiot box, the idiot juice, the idiot dust, my idiot house mates, and maybe, just maybe a roof for it all to happen under would be pretty handy.
