We didn’t have an opinion, yet we wanted a revolution.
We cried ourselves empty of all pathos and laughed at the utopias we didn’t belive in. We got high on hard work and blind faith.
We were both victim and perpetrator.
We borrowed heroic bodies from the past to squeeze of their sweat, quench their blood-thirst and trace down meaning.
We found ourselves intoxicated by euphoria and banal spasms on an empty battlefield. We were left without a cause to fight for.
We are ready to surrender - yet we don’t know to what.

- The text that goes along a very intense dance performance which my friend is in currently. It’s called “Trip” and it’s choreographed by White Horse Collective. (The way this text is written reminds me of the summer when I worked at IKEA in my hometown and spend my days reading “Days of war, nights of love” by Crimethink Collective in the Sales tent.)