Degenerations: OUTSPOKEN
Exploring youth culture identity through spoken word, collected by Unique Clarke as part of the Youth Curators
Youth is intrinsically rebellion; a questioning of the way the world works, and a refusal to adhere to it.
There used to be a tree on my Estate, called “The Crazy Tree.” It had huge sprawling limbs, and we’d sit there for hours every day – shunning the park nearby. As we climbed on those precarious ledges, swinging from tree branch to tree branch, it was as close to feeling ‘free’ as we ever imagined. We were told constantly to get down – our parents, strangers, even other kids. Eventually, the Council destroyed it. They deliberately cut off the branches connecting the tree so we couldn’t climb it.
This was one of the first instances where my freedom was regulated. I think of The Crazy Tree a lot, and how their action was a mutual destruction of both my childhood and nature.
I champion youth culture for what it is: resistance.
Unique Clarke
andy tighe, peter anderson, gavin watson
OUTSPOKEN: POETRY, RAP & SPOKEN WORD.
This is a collection dedicated to the art of expression.
Expression through photographs, but also poetry, rap and spoken word.
O Holy One
Incandescent shape
Your light burns too bright to see
Let the two of us – one in kind
Morph from this place to be:
A glinting of the kindling fire
The rock deep beneath the sea
The howl under the blood-red moon
The first breath of a star anew.
May we touch like light upon a sea,
In reflection, not attention, do we seek
Let the two of us join as one, so we can be
Loved.
ellie ramsden
Brian 'Briz 16' Fofana
Nowadays it feels like a constant battle in my mind
Nowadays it’s like im battling everything from time
To gay rights to hair and just generally the right to exist
This means I have too much time to think
Look what the world did to the sparkle in Meghan Markle’s eye
Imagine nowadays im afraid to cry
Nowadays you gotta sell front to get by
I aint been the same since she died
God just take me back
See I look at this picture I see the innocence that was stolen from me
I see the twisted path to adult hood
Stained with imagination
The same imagination that put me on the moon at 4 years old
Imagination laced with stories never told
Nowadays im To afraid to dream
The even took time
I remember when my only understanding was the TV guide
And the greatest loss I suffered was my little hotwheels car
Look how shit changes
I look at that picture and feel tainted
You must think im complaining-when was the last time you had peace
Cuz that shit I aint seen in a while
Until I was reminded what it looked like
Pure happiness
Reconditioned to Play as New
Youth is:
A packed car of cigarette-smokers on the rainy return home Trainers filled with trodden memories of beach nakedness Pointing the finger pushing things over running away Setting light to anything combustible
Broken glass. Fire. Broken window. Flames.
Youth is:
A bruise.
Worn out ribbons. Two mattresses touching. Sickly sweet treats and your dad's cologne. Not his advice.
Youth is:
A bonfire.
A sky filled with fireworks.
The cocky lad with the girlfriend that fancied you.
The day you learnt to roll. The club you dropped it in.
Room you lost it in. First big weekend.
The tough lad's ex and that secret sex you apparently never had. Honour among thieves and wee dandies.
Constantly hard.
Youth is:
Not fancying your mate’s girl.
Taunting from the far side of the street.
Rockets and missiles. Gazing at the sky through a black eye. Late home with a shrug.
Youth is:
Shit films and that bong.
Life in slow motion. Banter and bunking class.
So stoned they think you're ill. Never caught in the act. Always acting.
Youth is:
Secretive - Fuck off!
Youth is:
Public space.
Stairwells. Fence hopping. Multi-storeys. Girl’s toilets. Cafes. 'Offies'. Building sites. Parks. Pubs. Clubs and big brother's bedroom. Porn magazines in the bathroom. Smoking out the window.
Youth is:
Better than you'll ever know.
Scooters, skateboards, surfboards. Breaks. Pool tables. Wild cards. Bad girls. Video games. It was all for you.
Youth is:
Butterflies.
Appearing fearless but actually giving a shit.
Trying to understand passion whilst dying to the sound of a thousand broken hearts. Unparalleled first kiss, the girl you missed, your first true love.
Pride blown to pieces. Hiding in your hurtlocker. Throwing your fists at the air. Hidden tears. Hidden bends.
No complaints on speeding.
Youth is:
Attitude. Careless style. Like you'll never strut again. Mimicking stars, players, mates. What photos and memories were made for.
Long hair and neon.
Youth is:
A religion filled with idols.
The year above, in your dreams, creased in sheets. Etched on pencil cases. Benches. Marked on walls. Lockers. Exam tables.
They all got a mention.
Youth is:
The world at a safe distance.
Detached and harmlessly deluded. Protected but never understanding why. Plotting, creating and intent on outliving the times. Rising each day to face a century’s disenchantment. Negotiating battlefields as life spills out on the bus and into the playground.
Broadcasted before it’s even started.
Youth is: Escaping.
Youth is: No regrets.
Youth is:
Life’s fleeting kiss
The Knowledge (or A Manifesto to the Wise)
Victory to the Kids Underground art And all poetry
Therefore, and including,
Every Independent
Culturally provocative Intellectually stimulating Consciously hedonistic Anti-fascist and pro-revolutionary Bureaucratically confrontational Subculture group
Movements
Audiences
Their scenes and creations
The influence they keep Examples we set
The followers inspired
Especially all of us beginning Free from expectation
We must go, go far
Spread peace
With graceful finesse
Be classic
with contemporary style
We go, now go afinding The disciples, pupils
All Freedom fighters Lovers – believers - lifers Support to promote
The survivors of the tribe Their icons before them
Peace over all platforms Love across all boundaries Hope and forgiveness
May our minds
Be stronger tomorrow
The lessons
Learned from understanding To see it all, again and again,
To smile afterwards
On every eventuality
You’ll know what to do
They didn’t, we didn’t
Mistake chaos for incompetence Luck is a luxury created
You’ll find peace anyway
foreign shapes
I tried making a home out of the sky,
because houses aren’t forever—
they’re too easily empty spaces,
but the clouds sob and disappear too,
and I hate the view from this window
I tried making a home out of music
it’s the only language I can speak here
maybe it will swallow my silence,
but even the instruments seem to long
for the ground I cannot step foot on
anymore
everything is crowded and larger here
but I am not acquainted with the warmth,
I cannot make a home out of strangers
I cannot make a home out of what
stands so much taller than me
I tried making a home out of the colours,
the ones you see everyday,
it made me feel less lost for a while,
but the streets become too bright,
it casts a foreign shadow of me
it’s the firm voices in my ear,
the voices who made me
the ones who sing me to sleep
that made it all go away one night,
has it occurred to you, child,
maybe you are too young
to build a home of your own?
In Whispers
That nurtured facade,
that consistent containment,
like scratching around an itch, she did not know.
Smiles that did not reach eyes, calloused hands wrapped in silk,
a conspicuous consumption
she could all see from where she stood,
The clings of wine glasses,
the infallible banters over something which, stripped of its trivial shirt
was only skin deep.
And she did not speak or
have a place in the world.
Her silence danced like smoke, gliding over seas to fill her ears,
erupting from an intangible body, a soul bigger than her bones,
a small freedom buried beneath a large image they despised.
The ginger blossomed on her head; what broke them forged her,
sewed her back as eloquent pieces strung together by feeble threads,
yet tighter than what held their minds.
For she lived in a world
that did not end with a loud thud,
but quieted down in a whisper.