Walking Through an Urban Blizzard

It’s 4 AM and snowing. Another blizzard hit Boston, and the snow is flying diagonally in waves. I put on my black padded trench coat and stepped outside into the thick of it, alone in the quiet street outside my apartment. I walked, smoking another damn cigarette, thinking of living in the moment. Enjoying this moment, the crunch of snow under my feet, leaving the only footprints. Everything was quiet, and I could hear the sound of the snow landing, a million crystals falling from the sky. The apartments and houses were all dark. A huge yellow snowplow rumbled on the other end of the street, clearing a path. I had just finished another night of work preparing for the La Rivolta! anarcha-feminist festival for March 5-6 (updating the website, sending emails to volunteers and making calls) and had escaped outside. The trees were beautiful, white powder against dark wood, limbs stretched into the night sky lit up by the pink gray glow of a snow sky in the city.

In the middle of a snowstorm, I was thinking of life and solidarity and the meaning of footprints and where we are all headed in our own lives, and in the lives of each other. “Life calls for gigantic courage and strength,” said the outspoken Virginia Woolf in the 1920s. “More than anything…it calls for confidence in oneself.” Confidence, and trust in oneself, is not an easy thing to achieve. We all–especially women and anyone outside the dominant culture–have been told over and over by this destructive capitalist society that our dreams, desires and very selves are not valid.

I breathed deep the cold air, shivered, and looked to the sky. I gathered myself inside my large trench coat and smiled at the night.

This has been the hardest winter for me in a long time. “People come undone sometimes; this is inevitable and natural. Decomposition is a vital process in the cycle of life...” (from the new Recipes for Disaster) and I have done that. I felt my head cave in and questioned everything. “After all, it takes a total annihilation to find out what is truly indestructible.” And when I was undone, I looked hard at my life. I made a commitment to try to live true to myself. I want to travel, live in different places, video activists and bands and do all kinds of things. By the time you read this, sometime in May, I will be in Europe, traveling with BEHIND ENEMY LINES and video taping the tour for a documentary to be released on my label Propaganda Machine. As the catchy phrase on the back of Recipes for Disaster reads, “Plan for adventure, plan for pleasure, plan for pandemonium, as you wish; but plan, lay plans constantly.” I've got lots of plans, some will work, others won't, we'll see! I've got to try at least, that is what keeps life interesting and vital.

I finished my cigarette and headed back to the warmth of my new place. My new room is sparse, just a bed and my desk, my plants, a couple of trunks where I keep my clothes and a large comfortable chair that was here when I moved in. I like the openness, the feeling of possibility and simplicity.

Now, I settle in for another stretch at the computer to finish my column. LA FRACTION plays on the CD player, and I keep my boots on because it’s cold, even inside. I could put blankets on my windows, like I have for the last twelve years I’ve lived in Boston, but I don’t. I prefer the sunlight in the daytime, even if I have to wear a sweater.

I run my fingers through my hair, stretch and get back to my endless story of THE PROFIT$ on European tour as I promised…

Passports and the Embassy

I was standing in a parking lot in the middle of Prague, wondering what to do. Everything I had with me was gone, and the only thing I had left were the clothes on my back.

Tour had come to a complete, terrible, and utter stop. We were fucked.

The van was robbed, and gone were three passports and my wallet. We were careless, and we didn’t have our valuables on us at all times. Only a couple of hours had passed between looking at the beautiful views of the city, and finding our bags gone.

I went with Nina to call and cancel the bankcards in my wallet. Then, my worst moment of tour–calling my mom. Trying to find some privacy in the small apartment, I took the cordless phone into a storage closet and dialed countless digits to reach a small town in the southern U.S. Waiting for someone to pick up the phone seemed endless. Yes, she was home!

“Hi mom. Yeah, good to hear you too. Yes, the flight was fine, and Prague is very nice. Um, things are not going so well,” I said.

“I just had my wallet and all of my money stolen, and everyone else in the band is broke too. I really hate to ask, but could I borrow some money? Could you send it by Western Union?” I felt like shit for asking, and it reminded me of being a little kid again.

“Sure, no problem, are you ok?” she asked. With all the stress and being sick, I started crying. Then, a roommate opened the closet door and caught me standing there. A raging, angry anarcha-feminist crying on the phone to her mom. What a bad fucking day.

But I was very grateful that my mom could help out. I suppose that is what family is for, helping each other out when we need it most.

I got my shit back together and went back to the van. We decided to go to the show that night, and then come back to Prague to get replacement passports tomorrow. Driving to the show, everyone was in a terrible mood and wondering who was to blame, and if someone left the door unlocked. As true Bostonians, rather than get in a fight, we all without consultation resolved never to speak of it again. Shit happens. The silence was heavy and gray, and Hubert put on the CITIZENS FISH tape again for the hundredth time as we cruised on to Brno, Czech Republic.

We arrived at a small bar called Mydlo, as the local band finished. The place was smoky as a dungeon, and looked like one too. The concert room looked ancient, with brick walls that curved upwards into low arches. DISEASE played a short but very fast and powerful set, and it was good to see their crew. They kept handing me glasses of beer and cheered me up with their energy. THE PROFIT$ set went well, except for my voice was still hoarse and Adam was getting sick too. During our set a group of skinhead looking punks stood in front of the stage, and I couldn’t tell what they thought of the band or me. They looked hostile with their arms crossed and serious faces. Then, after our last song, to my great surprise, they started smiling, and all wanted a picture taken! Goes to show you never know what people are thinking. So, somewhere in Czech Republic there is a photo of me and a group of tough punks who I thought looked pissed off, but who turned out to be very cool–cheers to them!

Back to Prague. We had two days off to get our passports in order. The next morning Rich, Adam and I woke up early to get to the American Embassy. Fuck! The last place I wanted to be on tour, an outpost of the American empire! We found the building on a narrow street downtown, surrounded by tourist offices. Guards stopped all the cars on the street, and used mirrors on a long pole to check for any bombs strapped underneath. Getting in the building, I had to almost undress, taking off my spiked belts, boots, bracelets and necklaces to go through the metal detector. Marines with guns stood on guard.

Inside the office, in line to get our papers processed, we sat on a wooden bench for hours, drinking coffee from a machine Adam found in a nearby shop. I saw several people answering questions to the women behind the glass, trying to get visas to the States. They were dressed in suits, having to prove their business worth and job prospects, and here I was, an American with blue hair wearing torn clothes who lost her passport. I felt really dirty. Here I was in their country on tour with a band, on holiday, and they were having a hard time getting into the US for a job. Another example of how borders serve only the interests of the state and business, and only harm and contain us in our personal lives.

A day later, we had our temporary passports in hand, and were on our way to Austria. At this point, it was Sloma driving, Hubert and Brian up front, Rich, Adam and I in the middle seat, and Lucho sitting in the back with the gear. We knew that crossing the border with someone not in a real seat could be trouble. But, Lucho said he would deal with whatever happened, and off we went. We thought maybe we’d be lucky.

The Austrian Border.

We passed through an unmanned checkpoint in the road, and saw signs welcoming us to Austria. We all started cheering and saying how “awesome!” it was. Then, a moment later, we saw the real border crossing and a line of cars waiting. Fuck. Sloma said, “this is not awesome” and we all had a sinking feeling.

The border guard did not like the fact that someone was in the back with the gear. He decided not to give us a fine, but someone had to get out. Fuck. Lucho got his stuff together, and we all started talking at once, trying to figure out what to do.

Hubert saw a car with Polish plates in line after us, and ran up to them. He came back a minute later, and said that the two Polish guys could give Lucho a ride through the border. We would meet at the first gas station exit. That was the plan.

Lucho grabbed his backpack and jumped out.

“Lucho! Are you going to be OK?” I asked, worried as hell. Only crazy homicidal maniacs give people rides in the US.

“I’ll be fine, I’ll meet you at the show,” he answered. He got in the small car with the two Polish guys, and off they went. I had this sick feeling I would never see him again. It seemed like the beginning of a chapter in Steven King story.

A moment later, we were on the road, joking about Lucho being kidnapped, but it wasn’t really funny. Especially, when we got to the first gas station, and the car wasn’t there. Lucho wasn’t there. Driving on the highway, we stopped at the next five gas stations, thinking maybe there was a miscommunication. Still, no Lucho in sight. No more jokes, and just a bad worried feeling.

In Vienna, we got lost on the way to EKH, which seemed to be a running theme of tour, driving around, Hubert asking folks where the local anarchist squat was in various languages. An interesting way to see the city! Fuck. Finally, hours later, we arrived outside this massive, famous squat and jumped out. And who was the first person we saw? Lucho!

“Those guys were really weird. They didn’t want to stop and let me out,” Lucho said. “They got to Vienna and stopped at a gas station, one guy got out, so I jumped out and got a taxi to the show,” he explained. Even with being taken for a ride by the strange Polish guys and making an escape, he still made it to the show before us, and was already drinking a beer! Damn. We were all so glad to see him again, in one piece!

Also, as soon as we arrived and stopped hugging Lucho, we met Alfred, who set up the show, and Jon and Marta who had come from London for the weekend. It was so great to meet these English Active punks in person, as for several months we had talked on the phone and emailed, organizing The Profits record and tour. They had heard about the robbery, and had brought me a sweatshirt and lots of vegan snacks for the band. It really cheered us up. Not to mention, I was getting cold!

Jon immediately had good news for us, as our CD, t-shirts and the Active stall had finally arrived! International post had screwed us over, and the boxes didn’t arrive in Bremen as promised last week. So, all the boxes had to catch up with us in Vienna a few days into our tour. It was amazing to see our CD, “The Profit$ ’99-‘05” for the first time after so many months and long hours working on it. It was beautiful! A printing company in the UK put together the all-paper box the CD was in, and printed three beautiful posters with our artwork, all in black and white. I was so happy to finally have it in my hands! The Active Distribution stall we were taking on tour was pretty massive by our tour standards, and it took some time to go through all the pamphlets and books.

The EKH squat itself was a large building that looked like it used to be an old library or maybe a factory. There was a large bar room on the first floor that looked straight out of a movie, with metal art, music playing, smoke (of course) and punks hanging out. Also on the first floor, next door, was a bookstore and info shop. Just my favorite kind of place, where you can get a good radical book, and then debate it over a good beer! The concert room was downstairs and had a small stage and a nice sound system. I was told that through the large double doors there was another huge room, as big as a theatre, where they sometimes had shows in the past. There was also a whole floor of the building dedicated to housing refugees. Another floor had a large communal kitchen, where we were given a kick ass vegan dinner. Once again, we were all impressed and thankful for the hospitality bands are given on tour, and the food was so good!

The show was a really good time, again playing with DISEASE who rocked as usual. The couple of days off, drinking tea, chewing garlic and eating honey by the spoonful really helped my voice, and I was back to screaming against the system with all my might! Hell fucking yeah! Thanks to Alfred and the whole EKH crew for such a good time!

Never Ending Story

This story of tour is now officially never ending. I don’t know what to do, except maybe take some lessons on how to summarize. I haven’t even gotten to the best shows, the van breaking down or the ridiculous huge fight that broke out in Paris. Oh well! I do sleep, occasionally, and this column has to end for now. As I mentioned before, I’m going back to Europe in May, so please get in touch. ransom@theprofits.org. Also check out www.theprofits.org and www.larivolta.org. Thanks to everyone who has written over the last month, I really appreciate it. Also, a big cheers to the La Rivolta Collective…you’ll be hearing about them next month!

In solidarity and blazing guitars, Erika