Again, another eventful start to the year. As the festival season kicks off one wonders how anybody can afford it, but it really does come down to who you know. Much of the "local economy" is generated by performers, staff and workshop leaders. Personally, I like to work at them with a degree of flexibility. Most of my social interaction is done on this level and then I can enjoy the spontaneity of following the vibe. Now, there is a lot to say, so I will spread the information between the newsletter and SLP pages. Recently I was arrested in my home, ironically, for being a true permaculturist, one who's personal philosophy is grounded in indigenous, natural behaviour. This entailed growing food on 'abandoned' land, in this case, the railway embankment at the back of my garden. Whilst running Apple Day at the allotments, which turned out to be my final event there in 2009, I discovered the following day that the mother project of a forest garden, which I had been developing for 9 years and also of which my father had picked blackberries from in the days when it was all brambles, was half chopped down. I counted 8 fruit trees flattened and many currant and berry bushes. This year would have been an absolute bonanza. All this has been a psychological preparation for my departure this winter to colonise the landscape in Spain during the winter for 5 months. There is certainly a fair amount of wilderness to get my mind into. Thinking that this was just a brutal statement from Network Rail, who never tried to approach me but who had subsequently, I learned, received multiple complaints from one particualr household, decided that they should charge me. So two weeks later the transport police turned up. I refused all contact with them and ignored their letters. During a recent kids party they turned up. No doubt their informants had been on my mailing list. I had already anticipated the police reaction. The mural that the kids were painting in my bedroom was a form of psychological preparation for what might happen. To see a friend arrested could be damaging, especially being as young as 5 years old. They treated me better this time, and just before I left I told the police that they would make me a martyr. Going home I was greeted by a bunch of cheering kids outside my door. And just recently I have been informed that all charges have been dropped, including criminal damage and trespassing. It appears that all round everyone was aware of the sanity of the situation. That I improved the section of railway line is beyond doubt. This included increasing biodiversity, removing junk, and laying down the prophetic law, i.e. within the last two years land owners like the railways have given over land for food-growing projects in line with government policy. This was a pilot project! One they had turned a blind eye to. The neighbours on the other hand needed an area to flytip themselves - an earlier confrontation I had had with them. The mural in my bedroom is a reflection of all these influences coming in, including friends who never turned up to the party and the wilderness of nature still extant within young minds. I cannot complain of the joy I have had in this wilderness. The lyric below and subsequent description of the artpiece speaks volumes. The Arrest
You see, my friends from the arts college
Chaos and order come together
All this explains what I did have
Now they say I’m up for decoration
The railway men had gotten ear
It’s ironic that the vice of men
Oh why the warring factions three doors down
It was for this that on numerous occasions
But eventually they caught up with me
Now it bades unwell to point the finger
So I left the kids to freely invest
What psychological culturological effect this had
In fact I had informed the police
It’s not what I wanted, my philosophy is passive
On returning I sited a crowd in anticipation
It gave me great joy befitting of Eden
Those who want to contribute to the next newsletter please email me your material at newsletter. I am particularly looking for comments and photos from members.
Those who think they have control
Don’t know the forces under the soul
The power of community is far too strong
For the individual to contain alone
Make up the number of my peerage
They’re producing works for public viewing
Inviting critics to the art of doing
Through random assembly and mathematical formulae
A collection of shapes and assorted colours
Bring into light their various valours
A party of children built in love
They gathered in the premise of my abode
Where legend has it the fates are retold
For being the one who bode creation
My garden is a lush environment
That continues into the wild embankment
Of my antics growing food to bear
The apple, cherry, oh sweet almond
The seed that Adam was so virtuously fond
Should lead them out with saws in hand
To hack and cut at nature’s centaur
The very garden in which I mentor
Complained of my presence in Godly bound
The green man who sought no more than food
This idolatrous lot devoid of good
The police came round in proclamation
I refused all contact for indignation
My natural rights upheld my station
My door was open for welcome tea
But guess who unsurprisingly showed
To arrest me in my artist mode
The long arm of the law that lingers
Unfortunately my circle includes
The elements of a rotten feud
To paint the images of their jest
Anything that came to mined
Became the medium to express our kind
Could only be cured on the wall of my pad
Images strewn from the deepest repose
Of monsters and heroes in brush-bashing prose
That they’d make me a martyr if they continued this tease
Explained to them of my common right
To shine like the heroes of traditional might
My vision of justice is incredibly massive
But when I look at that mural in twilight wonder
I knew they had painted a ghoulish reminder
Who greeted me with cheerful expectation
I told them I had committed no sin
And that I’d come out stronger than when I went in
That innocent children run wild in my kingdom
Our names are in plaster held high in esteem
The date, seventeenth of May two thousand and ten, now redeemed