SPCC A Casa Amarela

we went back, again. the big white warehouse is gone! new dates: it will be gone by the end of the month.

why didn't everyone who said "i'll resist" resist? why was it that from all the people saying they wanted to do all the amazing things they said they wanted to do (more concerts, more parties, more this, more that), nobody did shit? why is it that all the heroes that received compliments on the concert weekend (for work they didn't do, but i'm not complaining) ended up doing nothing but messing up, stealing and (lately) trying to get more out of me and T and being verbally abusive?

the cynic me would say it was because me and T left and stopped working for everyone else. i don't have any other story. as soon as we stopped working and moved on, the place became a wasteland. dog shit everywhere, everything broken. the supposed heroic anarchists were nothing but lazy opportunists. nobody helped to clean, nobody helped us to paint it up for the demolition. instead, we were left with little to take to our new place (even all cutlery was stolen!), were accused of breaking I's stuff, and were demanded "compensation" (for what i have no clue). our "kids" quickly changed sides, making us into the devil, and their new leader (R), the savior. the ingroup never included me. i was part of the resources, not the family. i was being made a fool the whole 7 months.

i guess when scarcity returns, and people go back to survival mode, rationality is the least of all concerns. i can't reason with any of the people i helped and (thought) forged friendships. if someone can turn me from caretaker to vandal in a week, there is little to do but leave. so i left, and cut all personal contact from the old crew. it's better to preserve my health i guess. but this is yet another ideological defeat for me, of many i've endured testing my political ideologies empirically. lies are more powerful than any fact.

what people have hated and criticized about my candidness when i write here, is how raw my portrait is of what goes on. several times i was asked not to write what i think and not to share. we're talking about people who live for social status (a strange one, true, but there is such a thing in a supposed underground scene), so publicly showing they aren't what they show they are means social embarrassment (and less groupies). realizing the old school punks that look cool all the time are nothing but opportunistic, selfish and arrogant is damaging for the status built on the streets.

what i predict will happen is that the story about this squat will be about them. not about me or T or A or L or even S. the story will be about how the punk heroes started a squat and fought to the end, and how the bourgeois betrayed them (me too, a big and ironic lie, since i'm the only one that's actually a proletarian). soon, the role of the creators of the whole thing will dilute itself. and my personal status on this scene will become null (i wouldn't be part of a club that would have me as a member?).

luckily, our journal will remain as a tribute to everyone that really helped build this place, and the accounts of the "other" SPCC, the one that made hundreds of people from all over the world happy and understand an open, free culture can work. this "parallel reality" remains unknown to most people that lived at the house, or visited, that never chose to know our story.

so my candidness is not a threat or a personal attack on anyone. it is my personal side of the story, my SPCC.

godspeed starstuff ☆★☆☆★★★☆☆☆☆☆