Farms4justice

Date: 1/6/2017

I did some mathematics to work out something about FSC camps and worked out there needed to be one more camp a year, so I organised one at my grandma's old farm where I used to live. I made a welcome banner for the kids before they arrived. I practiced in marker pen on a piece of paper in the hallway. I started writing ITS OUR GOVERNMENT WHO, but by the time I got the M in government, I'd reached the edge of the page. Dissatisfied, I turned the page over to try again but found the pen had bled onto the back. I tried writing in spaces available on the page, but it all started looking like scribble. I went over letters again to try and rescue it but it only got worse. I ended up taping several pages up in my sister's old bedroom, confident that if anyone came in here, they'd see my critique of the state, and how we needed to organise against it through this camp. Outsite people were drunk around fires and pissing into buckets. A teenage girl was staggering around drunk near a bar and Theo, who had just arrived and was sober saw the drunken movements of the girl as she fell. Theo went over and immitated a complicated, graceful, wobbly flip onto the floor with arms and legs open wide. It was for the drunken girl to see she was not alone and that Theo was there for her. I was struck by the movement - there was a heaviness to how she landed that was typical of drunkness, but the execution and flow of a trained dancer. I thought about how Theo was neither of these things, but very experienced in being drunk, and there must be a muscle memory to this she can tap into. There were a lot of dynamics and relationships in this dream that have become foggy and inaccessible to me. I have a fond memory of living on that farm. I was chatting to Joel yesterday about that being the last time I experienced comforatble solitude.