An act of spiritual freedom.

Room 129


“In the face of contemporary pecksniffian anaesthesia we’ll erect a whole gallery of forebears, heros who carried on the struggle against bad consciousness but still knew how to party, a genial gene pool, a rare and difficult category to define, great minds not just for Truth but for the truth of pleasure, serious but not sober, whose sunny disposition makes them not sluggish but sharp, brilliant but not tormented. Imagine a Nietzsche with good digestion. Not the tepid Epicureans nor the bloated Sybarites. Sort of a spiritual hedonism, an actual Path of Pleasure, vision of a good life which is both noble and possible, rooted in a sense of the magnificent over-abundance of reality.”

– Hakim Bey, The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Appendix B.

Resistanz 2013 is over.

We are all back home. We sobered up, bandaged the bruises and tried to reset our body clocks to something socially acceptable. We are starring at pictures on facebook and ask ourself whether we really did that. Some of us know, because the mustache Scott painted on their bottoms won’t come of. Some may ask themselves whether we merely went somewhere to get miserably drunk or if there was more to this. I am sure there is more to this.

You don’t simply crowdsurf a fucking hotel room. I did and it was mine. At Resistanz Festival we freed ourselves from the impertinent interference of legislation and from the burden of hierarchy. For a moment we teleported a small fraction of Sheffield into a social hyperspace, where everyones originality wasn’t just mutually admited but celebrated. I’d like to perceive my hotel room as epicentre of this implosion, not in a sense of causing it, but in a sense of being the inevitable end of the effect. Crowdsurfing a hotel room with a set of random people that survived a long party night isn’t caused by a specific line up of a festival.

Resistanz, from the very beginning offered an artistic canvas larger than the stage. To stop being artist and audience and instead be something way cooler together. Therefore I wholeheartedly disagree with Richard Pyne’s statement “(…) events like Resistanz concentrate whats left of the scene into an enjoyable weekend”. Over three years Resistanz grew into an internationally recognised eruption: The proof that an outstanding event, that continental Europe isn’t even able to provide at the moment, is possible. That the fact, that a subculture getting smaller is a chance to meet each other in a more dense space and go fucking nuclear fusion.

We are not talking about “scene” here anymore. We are talking the spirit we celebrate at at this event, as it is something powerful, something that actually works, something that is way more than entertainment. Something that gets people involved.

What is left?

Lots of litter and us. And it is on us whether we like to look at the litter or into our hearts. We don’t need a stage to express what is in there. We don’t need the “European Scene” and not even Resistanz. What we need is that bit of chaos in our hearts, to spice up life, our own and others, with the touch of happy anarchy. We should be, become and extend Bey’s gallery of heroes and bring our vision of a good life forward wherever we go.

I’d like to extend my most humble respect and my gratitude to:

Leighton James Thompson, Phyl Pearman, Mark Haigh, Marco Visconti, Simon Mitchell, Foamy, Geoff Lee, Mia Taylor,  Scott IVardensphere, Elena Kovakina, Alanah Knibb, Ollie Langmead, Ross Weryk, Melanie Olsthoorn, Charlotte Utting-Brown, everyone that made it to my hotel room and to the magnificent staff of Corporation Sheffield.

Let’s hope we meet again and be bolder than ever before.

Love, -jl