Joy as an Act of Resistance is a parade.

 

It’s a parade of laughing at the funeral, of listening to the bastards, of phlegm on the mirror.
It’s a parade of my Grandfather’s wit, it is all the shit haircuts I’ve ever had.
It is a parade of naivety, of a warm embrace, it is Young Thug’s dress.
It’s the parade of being carried through the grim dark.
It’s a parade of laughing at yourself. It is love. It is loving yourself.
It is a parade of Tony Benn’s smile.
It is Idles, for now. It’s the beautiful smell of immigrant food.
It is a parade of vulnerability. It is Ilie Nastase
It’s a parade of being at your worst. It is our best, for now.
It is our thank you. It is our sorry.
It is a parade without fluff
but with a tonne of glitter and violence.
It is a parade of what I truly miss and what I truly have.
It is a parade of the second album. It is us cutting it’s fucking head off.
It is a parade of joy in the face of all we don’t want and all we fear.
It is a parade of you.