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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


12.12.07, wednesday afternoon

I declare myself a Temporary Autonomous Zone.

Free-thinking, freely loved, free to go wherever in the world. Free from my past, free from expectations, free from indentured servitude to another man's vision. Free to descend to hell and, more importantly, free to return from hell, redeemed by that hard journey.

If not forever, at least for now, today, at this hour.


. . .


In the Perpetual Guest’s ideal zone, a passport or visa is unnecessary. All portals are open, free of barbed wire and iron bar. You don’t need a reason to be here (but you can't do nothing). Just be sure to knock first, say hello, bring news. Good manners and gratitude are the essential traits of a truly autonomous transnational, for whom immigration laws are the rude anomaly, an imposition on good manners.

Change your name if you wish. Take the guise of a beggar, a witch, or a raven; the better to understand motives and intentions. Offer gifts—seeds of a powerful tree, gossip of faraway lands, a method by which you make the world sparkle (otherwise known as a spell or a damn good story). Learn the prayers of every religion you encounter. Get your tongue out and utter every laughing, naughty, outrageous word, especially the ones that we have forgotten. Comb the wind with the names of the places and people you've encountered in the time it takes to rake a field of stones into an intricate pattern.

Most importantly, wear a sturdy, rainproof, desert-daring, mountain-climbing, pavement-pounding, sea-dabbling pair of shoes. By the end of your journey, they should be so worn, you can see the color of your soles. If not, start again.







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