I had a blast last night-
went out to dinner with the guys, delicious pub food & drinks.
art opening at tortuga studios... it's great to be in with the bartender ;)
then partied till 5am at an illegal squatted warehouse party..
live bands, djs... the cops let us be. =)
- Fritz Misanthrope
- Hedonist. Adventurer, Artist, Photographer, Poet, Revolutionary.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Evicted
The Eviction
I was out, givin downtown Sydney another go, exploring art galleries. Was dissapointed by the exhibits, but still in a good mood. I came back to the suburbs and stopped by the cafe for a cup of esspresso and a free sandwich, and chatting with the rad barista girl.
I asked her if she wanted to go drinking Thursday, she said she'd come over to my place after work to hangou and because she wanted "to take pictures of the place before it all implodes". I was feeling great and made my way back to the squat. The whole walk back I thought about how great it was that the property owner is an American living in the USA with no intent of renting the place out.
When i got home, everyone was sitting around in the bar, a dark cloud hanging over the group. I said hello and checked in. After a few pleasantries they broke it to me: "The cops came by and evicted us. We have to be out by Friday."
"what????"
They explained:
The pigs came by with a real estate agent who was bein paid by the property owner to check on the place. Apparently, said realator hadn't noticed people living here for he last 6 months.
The cops took everyones IDs and walked through the house. They said the owner had no intention of using the property at all, but we had to leave.. They said they would be back Saturday morning and we had to all be out.
The story shook me up.
Everyone was somber. You could read it on their faces- 'not again'. They had finally felt a sense of home. For six months they had been unopposed in this residence. Now it was time to pack up and move again.
It obviously effected me less than everyone else. I already had my ticket to leave the country on Saturday. Besides, I'm a full time traveller; I am used to living out of a backpack and being ready to load up and move out in mere minutes. The people I had been staying with were very different. They are looking for a more permanent situation. They want a home.
A meeting was scheduled between members of this house and the next door neighbors, also squatters who had the same property owner and thus- situation. They wanted to keep the community that has developed and build upon it.
I went out for the night, cashing in on the luxury of being a vagrant.
This morning, the mood was still dreary. The sunshine and beautiful day didn't help at all. As I made breakfast, people came with dollies and moved out the stand-up freezer and started breaking down the kitchen.
The squatters talked about their dreams of somewhere to live;
"I wish I had a van I could live in, then this wouldn't be a problem. Even just a car, some roof that I could always sleep under."
"I just got to get my tent fixed, then I'll be ok."
"yeah, I reckon I'll be camping for a bit"
A few new buildings had been opened in the night and some of the people were moving in there. Others were looking at where to move their stuff as they would be living on the streets for a while.
The move began, packing and transporting, mending clothes, sleeping bags and tents.
I was out, givin downtown Sydney another go, exploring art galleries. Was dissapointed by the exhibits, but still in a good mood. I came back to the suburbs and stopped by the cafe for a cup of esspresso and a free sandwich, and chatting with the rad barista girl.
I asked her if she wanted to go drinking Thursday, she said she'd come over to my place after work to hangou and because she wanted "to take pictures of the place before it all implodes". I was feeling great and made my way back to the squat. The whole walk back I thought about how great it was that the property owner is an American living in the USA with no intent of renting the place out.
When i got home, everyone was sitting around in the bar, a dark cloud hanging over the group. I said hello and checked in. After a few pleasantries they broke it to me: "The cops came by and evicted us. We have to be out by Friday."
"what????"
They explained:
The pigs came by with a real estate agent who was bein paid by the property owner to check on the place. Apparently, said realator hadn't noticed people living here for he last 6 months.
The cops took everyones IDs and walked through the house. They said the owner had no intention of using the property at all, but we had to leave.. They said they would be back Saturday morning and we had to all be out.
The story shook me up.
Everyone was somber. You could read it on their faces- 'not again'. They had finally felt a sense of home. For six months they had been unopposed in this residence. Now it was time to pack up and move again.
It obviously effected me less than everyone else. I already had my ticket to leave the country on Saturday. Besides, I'm a full time traveller; I am used to living out of a backpack and being ready to load up and move out in mere minutes. The people I had been staying with were very different. They are looking for a more permanent situation. They want a home.
A meeting was scheduled between members of this house and the next door neighbors, also squatters who had the same property owner and thus- situation. They wanted to keep the community that has developed and build upon it.
I went out for the night, cashing in on the luxury of being a vagrant.
This morning, the mood was still dreary. The sunshine and beautiful day didn't help at all. As I made breakfast, people came with dollies and moved out the stand-up freezer and started breaking down the kitchen.
The squatters talked about their dreams of somewhere to live;
"I wish I had a van I could live in, then this wouldn't be a problem. Even just a car, some roof that I could always sleep under."
"I just got to get my tent fixed, then I'll be ok."
"yeah, I reckon I'll be camping for a bit"
A few new buildings had been opened in the night and some of the people were moving in there. Others were looking at where to move their stuff as they would be living on the streets for a while.
The move began, packing and transporting, mending clothes, sleeping bags and tents.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Last Days in Melbourne
Day 4 Melbourne
Woke up late and had coffee and breakfast. A few bongrips, then I was on my way downtown. I stopped by an Internet cafe for an hour to update my blog, then went back to the National Gallery of Victoria to check out more art.
The impressionist paintings were phenomenal, and a good amount of abstract expressionism. Glad to see some old favourotes:
rothko
picasso
matisse
monet
cezanne
Magritte - one of my absolute favourites.
I was quite taken by the furniture design exhibit and the contemporary art section had a great series by Damien Hirst.
fancy ass cradle.
Hirst
Warhol
Oceanic art blew me away, the collection from Paupa New Guinea and New Zealand was amazing. The gallery closed and I stopped by "Lord of the Fries" for a box of chips.
oceanic masks.
Jumped a tram down to Barricade Books for the vegan cake competition, had a rainbow love themed cake and a pirates revenge sea shepherd themed one, both were good, unfortunately I was too late to try the cake that had won the coveted 'most scrumptious' catergory. I hungout and chatted with Melbournes radicals until the shop closed, then headed back to the squat.
Everyone at the house was pregaming for going out to a party that night. I joined in for some beers then we mounted bikes and took off into the chilly winter night.
A couple mile ride, me on a wobbly Frankenstein-bike, and a stop at the bottle shop before we got to the party. I walked in first, as the unknown American guy, demanding; "I'm here to drink your booze!". I was greeted with confused looks and a few chuckles.
My friends came in behind and reassured eveyone: "this is Fritz, he's a good cunt". I was called a 'good cunt' more in that one night than I have been in my whole life up till then combined. Its a term of endearment here.
The party was crowded with people who had been at the cake compititon. We drank hard, listened to punk rock and woody guthrie, and laughed the night away. I ran out of beer and started hitting the cask wine (known by the kids here as 'goon' - not space bags).
Around 5 in the morning, two kiwis I was staying with got in a bit of a scuffle with two other people at the party and were told to leave. I joined them and made the cold ride back to the squat. We bullshitted around the living room for a bit before passing out on the floor.
A few hours of sleep and I woke up sore and haggard - the goon had gotten the better of me. The Sydney crew piled in the car and hit the road for the 10 hour drive north.
Woke up late and had coffee and breakfast. A few bongrips, then I was on my way downtown. I stopped by an Internet cafe for an hour to update my blog, then went back to the National Gallery of Victoria to check out more art.
The impressionist paintings were phenomenal, and a good amount of abstract expressionism. Glad to see some old favourotes:
rothko
picasso
matisse
monet
cezanne
Magritte - one of my absolute favourites.
I was quite taken by the furniture design exhibit and the contemporary art section had a great series by Damien Hirst.
fancy ass cradle.
Hirst
Warhol
Oceanic art blew me away, the collection from Paupa New Guinea and New Zealand was amazing. The gallery closed and I stopped by "Lord of the Fries" for a box of chips.
oceanic masks.
Jumped a tram down to Barricade Books for the vegan cake competition, had a rainbow love themed cake and a pirates revenge sea shepherd themed one, both were good, unfortunately I was too late to try the cake that had won the coveted 'most scrumptious' catergory. I hungout and chatted with Melbournes radicals until the shop closed, then headed back to the squat.
Everyone at the house was pregaming for going out to a party that night. I joined in for some beers then we mounted bikes and took off into the chilly winter night.
A couple mile ride, me on a wobbly Frankenstein-bike, and a stop at the bottle shop before we got to the party. I walked in first, as the unknown American guy, demanding; "I'm here to drink your booze!". I was greeted with confused looks and a few chuckles.
My friends came in behind and reassured eveyone: "this is Fritz, he's a good cunt". I was called a 'good cunt' more in that one night than I have been in my whole life up till then combined. Its a term of endearment here.
The party was crowded with people who had been at the cake compititon. We drank hard, listened to punk rock and woody guthrie, and laughed the night away. I ran out of beer and started hitting the cask wine (known by the kids here as 'goon' - not space bags).
Around 5 in the morning, two kiwis I was staying with got in a bit of a scuffle with two other people at the party and were told to leave. I joined them and made the cold ride back to the squat. We bullshitted around the living room for a bit before passing out on the floor.
A few hours of sleep and I woke up sore and haggard - the goon had gotten the better of me. The Sydney crew piled in the car and hit the road for the 10 hour drive north.
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