I'm in the center of Athens, looking for a bustdown, make me put my two hands up...TOUCHDOWN!
Yeah, that's right, your main man has made it back to Athens for the first time since the December insurrection, and now that I'm back in the motherland I set up this blog so I can answer all the paparazzi's question.
To be a little more specific, let me give you an example. In the States, I'll be trying to just chill in an infoshop, looking fly, and people ask me:
“Yo, I don't hear anything about Greece anymore, what's still going on there?”
Usually, I tell them:
“Stop sweating me and concentrate on me and my gold Social War chain!”
But nowadays, the kid is feeling a little more talkative, so I set up 277 Street Fights the blog to fill you in on all the gritty aspects of the struggle.
So to begin answering your questions, basically occupations are the hip new fashion in Greece. Especially in Athens, which unlike Salonica, has never had a strong squatting tradition. In fact, I'm staying at a squat called Skaramagas (which I call Scaramanga after the scientifical Rawkus records rapper) that used to be the mansion of a famous Greek opera singer. On the day the squat opened comrades set up huge speakers and played her rendition of “Carmen.”
I shouldn't forget to mention that new squats are popping up in smaller towns and cities despite the government's new measures against occupations. (As if those right wing assholes in parliament could do anything right.) Last week, in Athens, there was a huge anarchist march in support of the new squats. Comrades tell me that the uncharacteristically high attendance for an anarchist demonstration surprised everyone. There has been a ton of new faces after the uprising in December.
On my first day in Skaramagas, fascists tried to burn down the banners draped in front of the building. Just like you would expect in Greece, we left the squat looking for the culprits carrying flag bats. Sadly, we couldn't find the Neo-Nazis to kindly ask them if they wanted to play a game of stick ball but it brought back all these fond memories of December's unrest.
Yesterday, I saw a friend I met in December and she told me that as glad as she was to see my face, it made her sad because it reminded her of the of the lost insurrection. I'm not going to front either, your man is a little distraught. Last time I got off the plane in Athens, I stepped into a fucking inferno, this time, the buildings ain't even slightly roach clip flamed. Today, Greece feels like a foreign country, but in December, it was a homeland to everyone.
Yeah, so what, I cried. I don't care, judge me all you want. Thugs can drop a tear or a thousand and even sob those sobs that inevitably spew mucus everywhere. But, really theres no reason to sit in Exarchia and feel sorry for myself. So, I've been rubbing my snot and all those big crocodile tears on my fists. That's right, packing my wrecking balls with all types of face gunk. So, dig it, when the first street fight jumps off, I'm unleashing all types of swine flu on the pigs the second I start throwing blows. The cops better have their vitamin C game up or they'll be dropping like Hakim Bey's underpants in a pre-school! You feel me?
Till the next street fight,
x x at gmail dot com or something
ps. I see you San Francisco!