Thoughts from the bonds of captivity …
November 2013 - Greece
With the final destination our internal demons …
Resident in the land of frozen time for almost a year now , the ice has now spread through my body . Monotonous daily repetitive moves , general immobility . Here borders are transformed into iron doors and walls .
Walking in the yard , forty steps top-to-bottom thirty five steps left-to-right . Then the wall . Up down , up down , left right , left right . After a while you start to memorize creepy details from the stone borders that are stopping you from making your forty first step , where various scribbles are , where each bump is . I think that it makes sense since I meet them numerous times in front of me .
The clock I hide in my body , has frozen too . Even if I know that my time is counting backwards , I ’ m troubled , the mathematical calculations of my prison time here disgust me . 3 / 5 for full release , 1 / 3 of the sentence for a leave [ 1 ], you have this much prison with working days , this much without them .
I always hated the mathematics which define my life . If I had an inclination towards that I would probably never have chosen such a life . A simple equation from the bureaucrats of revolutionary logistics would have convinced me . Anarchy + urban guerrilla = illegality = death or prison , they would have said and now believe that that were proven right . I would tell them to leave me alone then and now . Human life does not fit into fractions and equations . And the passion for freedom is not haunted by any ghost of capitulation . Simple like the mathematics equations of defeat I despise so much .
But let ’ s get back that internal clock . While I was underground , my internal clock had gone to the horologist , who sent it to the psychiatric clinic . When I asked him why , he told me that is where all the clocks which reside in the bodies of those who fight the fate of the eternal slave end up . The official diagnosis was that it was wound up by abnormal hands .
But it defied the commands and invocations to return to the normality of the smoothness of surgically calculated promiscuity . Thus , one beautiful night with a moon it made its leap to freedom and escaped from the white chamber of the psyciatric clinic . It met it again in a conspiratorial rendezvous , where each of us had taken the necessary precautionary measures . An honest word , beautiful promises and a big decision .
Never again slaves , never again with bowed heads , never again alone . For ever on the other side , for ever rebellious and sacrilegious , for ever on the path of free people . For ever , you hear ?
I hate those who have the perversion to demand submission . For them bowed heads and silence is like a ritual where the masters require a slave , worthy of serving them .
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