Walking around in the city just a little while ago, I spotted a large sign set up outside a shop, which read:

TALLER

JESUS

The Almighty Tallest regard a lowly Invader

Hmmm… If there’s a Taller Jesus out there, that suggests there might be a Tallest Jesus somewhere as well. Together with the Shortest (or, perhaps, “Least Tall”) Jesus — presumably the one we’re familiar with from all those icons, this suggest there are at least three Jesuses in total. This would leave the Holy Trinity as a Holy Quintity (or something), at the very least. Gosh, what a mess!

Now is the Tallest Jesus the Almighty Tallest? What implications does that have for the Irken Empire, who are led by not one but two Almighty Tallests?

Certainly, more research is required.

(“taller” is a Spanish word for “workshop” or “studio”)

Plaza de la Trinidad, Granada, Spain; by othermore (other) @ flickr, click for original

One day in early November, I passed through the Plaza just before nightfall and was shocked by the noise. Thousands of small birds had taken up roosts in the top branches of the dense tree cover in the plaza, and it seemed as if all of them were squawking and chirping at once. They all seemed to be of the same species, little brown ones of some sort (I’m no expert), since they all sang the same song. A few stray loners of other species, well outside the central area, added their own unique sounds to the amazing racket.

I was quite impressed. The square is fairly busy during the day, with both vehicle traffic and plenty of people talking outside the bars and cafés and in the plaza park itself. But this was something else. The noise these birds made, as they presumably bedded themselves down for the night, was tremendous! You could hear them from several blocks away, and in the plaza itself you’d have to shout to make yourself heard over the noise.

I was struck by what a nice little counterpoint the whole scene was. Here, in the core of a dense and busy city, these thousands of birds would congregate each day. Who knows what they sing and chirp and squawk about. Maybe they’re just marking out their territory and warding off outsiders, maybe it’s a kind of community-reinforcement behavior, or maybe they cry out in solidarity with their brethren imprisoned in the cages of the exotic bird shop near where I took up residence. No matter. Here they were, every day just before dusk, making a joyous din that echoed off the stone walls of the surrounding buildings. The only negative point was the huge amount of droppings they produced; walking through the park during those hours is a calculated risk to anyone’s hair and clothing.

When I was in the area, at the right time, I would sometimes drop in just to hear all the birds singing their mighty song.

And then, at the beginning of December, a city maintenance crew came along one day and cut down all the smaller tree branches and carted them away. And the Plaza de la Trinidad now lies silent, until late spring.

According to Granada Indymedia and other things I’ve seen, a local “coexistence” ordinance for Granada entered into force on 10 November which prohibits on the city’s streets, well, basically everything not approved by the authorities. From my perhaps defective reading of the commentary I’ve seen in Spanish, “coexistence” is indeed the correct answer, if the question is, “How shall we, the city’s ruling class, suffer these filthy beggars?”

Among the acts banned are:

Prohibido todo - Everything banned

• All forms of prostitution (via legal constructions which, I hear second-hand, are worded so generally that the police could arrest attractively-clad women based on the types of glances they cast at men)
• Begging at public transport locations, “institutional attention” centers and private property (read: damn near anywhere), with the goal of forcing beggars into the welfare system
• Acrobatics and games of skill involving bicycles, skates, skateboards or balloons, outside ares designated for such
• All “public acts” or protests done without permission, which might in any way block traffic or create a public security hazard
• The purchase or acquisition in public spaces of food, drinks or other products from unpermitted walking vendors
• Allowing dust to fall on the street as a result of cleaning clothes or carpets on balconies or terraces
• Allowing water to fall on the street due to watering plants located outside a building
• Spitting or meeting other bodily needs in public spaces
• Performing as a street musician, especially if collecting money
• Handling or selecting things deposited in city trash bins (which, by the way, you’re not allowed to put your rubbish into except between 8pm and 11pm)
• Washing, fixing or carrying out maintenance work on vehicles in public spaces
• Placing pamphlets or leaflets on vehicles or movable property

Nope, no institutionalized privilege here.

The law provides for the immediate seizure of any instruments, object, money or other “fruits or products obtained via the violating activity”, subject to being passed into evidence in a court proceeding or being forfeited.

A leaflet distributed at the protest says: “They are converting the streets into a place reserved for going to work or to shop”, and, “With the excuse of ‘promoting coexistence’, they would try to rob us of one of the last remnants of freedom left to us: the streets.”

Policía Local - hired thugs

All told, there were maybe 400 people in attendance at Plaza del Carmen. My friend, from a smaller city in northern France, remarked that such an event there might have drawn 10,000 people without being a big surprise.

Policía - Se puede obedecer

The protest was largely street theater. A guy with a seriously-modified, six-foot-tall bicycle came riding around with a sign attached saying how what he was doing was illegal. A couple of girls invited the crowd to jump rope in the square. Another pair carried a clothesline strung between two broomsticks, festooned with underpants. Juggling occurred. Balls were thrown around, as were balloons. A guy cheaply costumed as a police officer (complete with cardboard riot shield, helmet face mask, inner-tube baton and a sign on his back reading “You may circulate and obey”) made a show of beating up some giggling kids.

Maybe 20 local police were there, and made a show of putting their riot helmets on as the protesters made a show of rushing the entrance to city hall. Not a whole lot really happened, though, since none among the protesters seemed to have had the foresight to bring pitchforks or rifles along.

Oh well.

As my friends and regular readers know, I’ve left Slovakia and taken up provisional digs in Granada, Spain. There were two reasons for getting out. The first is to be able to tell the story of being brutalized at the hands of the Slovak Police and to publish Miroslav Pašek‘s name widely, without same beasts knowing precisely where I live and having easy access to my fragile corpus. The second reason is psychological. From the time of the attack until I left, I was more or less a shut-in. Leaving my building, walking around the city, taking a bus, even visiting with friends all were liable to trigger memory and emotional associations which would set off various negative psychological/somatic reactions in me: fear, stress, anxiety, depression.

Image unrelated, but still a good read

So it was time to go, get my story out — for what that’s worth — and try to rebuild my psyche. And getting out has done me good: the fear/stress/anxiety stuff is gone, since I’m not in the triggering environment. The depression — something I’ve been prone to for long years anyway — is still there. And now there’s a new element, too: homesickness, an emotion-complex I’ve not really experienced before. Bratislava had become home to me, and now that’s been ripped away, along with easy access to my dear friends there. This will all get better over time, I know, but it still sucks for the moment.

So, to the bleg. Moving is expensive. And it gets extra expensive when you have a sweet 18-year-old cat depending on you for his daily love and vittles. €857.48 worth of expensive, to be more or less exact, or US$1,274.99. Money I don’t really have.

An itemization of my moving expenses is below, followed by a special treat. If you can help out, I can take payments to mike (at) gogulski (dot) com via PayPal, MoneyBookers, Revolution Money Exchange and Pecunix. Direct “pay” links to all of them can be found at Support nostate.com above, and there’s also a ChipIn widget here now. Please don’t mark anything as a “donation”, since PayPal particularly seems to think anyone who accepts “donations” needs to be a state-registered charity. Use “gift” instead, if anything.

And thanks as always for your attention, your interest and your support.

And now, the promised treat!

Henry's first breath of freedom (which he used to complain, loudly), in Marbella, Spain, after 10 hours of undignified travel