I WRITE THIS PIECE WITH NO EFFORT TO FOLLOW CONVENTION. SYNTAX AND SEMATICS HAVE BEEN ABORTED AND FORGOTTEN. I DO NOT ATTEMPT TO FOLLOW GRAMMATICAL RULES. AND THIS IS WITHOUT SHAME. BECAUSE I CAN
In dungeons, alleyways, smoky saloons, cagy clubs, at sit- in sessions, cluttered garages, and concrete urban parkways, in street corners, stationed on campus grounds, squatting on staircases leading towards and away from…wherever they can meet are mavericks possessed with purpose and truth. Sensuous. Sensitive. Powerful. Potent. Pliable. Intense. Ambitious. Anarchic. The underground is not about space or place, tags or titles or even status or a lack of. The underground is a spirit. A counter culture. A silent movement seeping inconspicuously away from the limelights yet towards the people.
The underground is about people. It is not an institution it’s strategic. It is a home to the un-classed, un-definable, and “unrelatable.” It comprises of the expressive, communicative, and creative. Underground people are restless souls intolerant of propriety and hungry for discovery and destiny. Their drawn to each other like magnetic poles and gather oftentimes behind the backdrop of various arts and in the name of diverse cultures mostly unpopular (in reference to Popular Culture) but popularized. Overall, they are sojourners and inventors. They are sensual and sensible, open to discovery and affiliation.
Wherever they meet, minds are certain to be set ablaze with new ideas and inventions. They are a society of the misunderstood. Of the displaced. They are a consortium of self-seekers and truth finders, of people who are or were automatically “othered” by virtue of being who they are. They are not bitter, but in fact lovers of life. They purge themselves of their pain through the music they play, and the sounds and voices they enjoy. They know how to sweep away their littered minds through EXPRESSION. With them, anything goes. The underground spirit is not timely but timeless, ethereal and eternal permeating societies and showing its face where it is most unwelcome.
THE UNDERGROUND IS UNDEFINED. To try to define it is to quench its fire… to annihilate its mission. No one must deserve the underground: it is a family of the forgotten ones, the lost ones, the wild ones, the weird ones, again, the misunderstood. Underground people seek to reconcile themselves to their world and fallen condition. They just do not (and cannot) sashay through life with scaly eyes and misty minds. They are conscious of EVERYTHING, of both the blessings and cursings of life, the redeeming moments, and the curve balls rooted in humanity.
They have accepted it…come face to face with the foolishness of earthlings and their designated abode, of struggles and achievements, of successes and failures. This IS their essence. Their hearts are inclined to injustices. They are, can be, and should be mouthpieces however, not quite like politicians or priests even though this is, as well, quite valid. Unnoticeably even to themselves, they wear the souls of the undefined, the rejected, the oppressed like jackets. Underground people are infamous of vomiting out revolutionaries, revivalists, creatives, and creators onto the jeoloused platforms of the masses.
The underground is a world of dreamers, thinkers, LOVERS – of life in both its best and ugliest form; it is a playground for people who dare to go beyond the limitations of average thinking. The underground knows how to take ash and transform it into beauty. It is a voice for the unvoiced, not always the voiceless. Underground people have become free in their minds and their hearts are alive with passion. Their desire? TO LIVE. Their motivation? LIFE. Their purpose? TO COME ALIVE. This is where souls really kiss and meet. This is where love is shared freely and undeniably. This is where life is the easiest, the least complex, and the most thrilling. This ladies and gentlemen, is the underground.
LeraTo “The Scribe” SIbanda
11 September 2010