April 16, 2011 – left pawn shop with small packable guitar, discouraged once again to find a parking ticket on my Ford Escape’s windshield. Fed up with suffocating hand of the law, set out on solo journey into Okanagan Mountain Park. Not like SUV ad… left Escape behind and adventured on foot. Reminded sign after sign that I was never far away from rules to break. Dragged gear and guitar (Nelly) for hours, set up camp at a scenic vantage point in Wildhorse Canyon (according to some map). A ruckus caught my attention, was ecstatic to spot a family of mountain sheep meandering through canyon below. Excitedly rushed down for a closer look, but was disgusted to see each had an ear pierced with a blue plastic number tag. That night, frustrated and defiant, Nelly and I jammed out this tune, cuddled close to fire. Ran out of food after one night… too domesticated to survive on my own despite wild desire, forced back to luxurious life of city reliance. But not before belting out new song a few more times, enjoying early morning canyon echoes, drowning out sounds of civilization buzzing overhead. Heard by two German scouts as they sipped cups of hot tea nearby, hidden in the trees. Almost tripped on them while crashing home through the bush. They had been on the road for more than a year… combined had less gear than I had packed for one night! Offered me a fresh cup and sang me scout songs on their own guitars. None of my friends believed me… until a few days later when the two scouts walked into the pub 100km away where we were having drinks! Laughter. Liberation. Left again soon after… border blind.
lyrics
Hop in my car, what do I see?
A fresh parking ticket laughing at me,
I laughed at it back and threw it in the street and peaced,
The straw that broke the camel’s back,
More like the last ticket to make the mountain man pack,
You paint your pavement and hold out your hand,
Cut me some slack, add it to my stack
Your lines are lost on me, ‘cuz I’ve been lost in the trees,
I look at the ground and don’t see your borderlines,
And that’s fine,
Is there a place I can escape the race,
And cell phone reception? Ya
Drove to the limits of the city,
Sign nailed to a tree, reading “Private Property”,
“Trespassers will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law”,
Well who’s law?
Ya, I can see the yellow dotted line on your map,
Well I can draw my own map too, ya silly chap,
My replaces car path with boot path and streetlights with stars,
No fences or gates or grates or bars
Your lines are lost on me, ‘cuz I’ve been lost in the trees,
I look at the ground and don’t see your borderlines,
And that’s fine,
Is there a place I can escape the race,
And Facebook notifications? Ya
Just the right speed, nice and slow,
The shoelace express takes me where I want to go,
Nothing cock-blocks like a traffic light breaking you flow,
Get off my toe,
Silly chap, don’t forget ‘bout your Earth Mother,
Suckin’ one teat while punching the other,
Ninety minutes to drive a mile,
So you don’t visit your brother ‘cuz of traffic?
Join my laughing demographic
Your lines are lost on me, ‘cuz I’ve been lost in the trees,
I look at the ground and don’t see your borderlines,
And that’s fine,
Is there a place I can escape the race,
And the fuzz, and the buzz of mass transportation? Ya
Fort Mutiny is a vision. Not a flawless utopia, but a lawless tribe of defiant free-spirits, brewing up a more natural life.
How could such a dream be kindled? Music is a great place to start: uncensored honesty, fueled by personal journals, put to all-acoustic instrumentation. It doesn't matter who wrote it. What matters is that, if you belong at Fort Mutiny, these tunes may help you get there....more
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