Shit Tags

A calm weekend. Yesterday I reminded myself why I shouldn’t always wait until the day is over before writing about it. I was tired and a bit drunk and I let the guy who derailed a show derail a blog. Silly Al.

At the end of the weekend I’m walking off the cliff again. It’s been a good run of work but next week the diary is annoyingly blank. There’s plenty of stuff I have to do in realworldland though, so it can be a time of admin. I can sort the car perhaps. Get my shit together, think about what I want to make next, sort the flat out, pay homage to my merciful cat mistress.

Today though is just for chilling out on the sofa with Brian, gearing up for an evening in the van where I can have the headspace to roll with weird energy if any of it manifests. There was a lot of unusual energy flying around yesterday but I guess that’s a Friday night in London. People kept banging the van. We had some taggers that got really mardy with us for parking up where they wanted to spray. I’m glad they didn’t spray the front of the van as they were angry enough to, but they hadn’t started yet. (*and it turns out I was wrong. I hadn’t noticed as it was small). They … wanted to be angry. I suppose it’s a potential identity choice if you’re drawn to be a tagger. “Fuck the system etc.” This is an official government sanctioned graffiti area… You’re not being properly subversive if you don’t tag the van… Ugh.

We had a nightmare setting up yesterday, as some guy had parked his BMW in the tunnel blocking us, and then vanished. He was eventually found and he spikily reversed, bristling with aggression. People get angry after being pushed into boxes all week. It could’ve been a lot worse, but it was pretty weird anyway and I really don’t want another night like it, despite it ending beautifully with friends.

So I’m going to get in early today so I have my calm. The rushed beginning caused me to lose touch with my usual ability to derail negativity and defuse rage. I suspect there’ll be nothing bad compared to yesterday. (*Ha)

Time passes, and now I’m in early and feeling sad. Somebody tagged the front of the van last night, and had a good go at taking the numberplate off. Not cool. It’ll take time and a bit of money to undo. “It’s a shit tag as well,” says one of the regulars. And it is. Which kinda makes it worse. Friday night in London. If I propose a van show here again it’ll be with a van that belongs to me, and I’ll encourage people to tag it so it doesn’t burn me when someone does that shit. It works for the show I guess. I can bring it in to the world. But it feels a bit like someone just casually took a shit in my bedroom. And I don’t mean Pickle.

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Time passes.

I was upset about that. A little smiley face and an idiot signature. This evening they went to town.

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We were inside the van running the show. It’s right outside the front door of the festival. Surely someone could keep an eye, you’d think. But there were some ragey kids in the tunnel. It wasn’t specific rage. It was general. But the van is visible, the middle class is evident in the audience, and I’m wearing a top hat. One of them whacked it off HARD and then tried to pick a fight with me when I asked him why. They were causing problems for the ushers too. Frustrating. It’s been a lovely two weeks. But the crazies are out now. I blame the weather.

It’s warmer this weekend than it has been for the last two. If you’d usually stay at home playing FIFA and cranking you might be inclined to hit the streets, nick some paint, and use a bit of it to fuck with a stranger’s van before getting busy with solvents so you can shit your pants in a railway siding while trying to tag and urinate simultaneously. They could choose their battles.

Mel said “Taggers and theatre people have loads in common. We all are marginalised geeks who find a way to take our power. We all make things that we know are ephemeral.”

True dat. Rage is fine. But don’t direct it at people who are angry too.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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