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Wrong Planet - Searching for your Tribe

Book by Karl Wiggins · 50 quotes · Gypsies, Life Philosophy, Gypsy Soul

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Wrong Planet - Searching for your Tribe Quotes

“Some of us feel as if we’re outsiders. People occasionally talk about us in hushed tones, whispering that we’re a bit of a lone wolf, or at times a loose cannon. They don’t want to say it to our faces because every now and again we can be a little bit unpredictable. But they look at us with a strange curiosity, because in comparison – although they’re often very successful at ‘fitting in’ – they lead lives that are drab, dreary and monotonous. They’re not unruly like the Carefree Scamps. We have a divine spark of unruliness within us. And it’s that unruliness which has kept us young.”

“You know what our dilemma is? We’re too astute and too bold for Rag, Tag & Bobtail. Our perception moves a million miles a minute, and we don’t just muddle through like most people. In fact, for the most part we don’t even like most people, and that may well have something to do with the fact that we’re not bamboozled by the things that bamboozle them. No, our dilemma is that we’re philosophers. And we’re too bold. But when you think about it, that’s no dilemma at all.”

“We warily sipped ‘fresh’ buffalo milk in a Krishna temple. We travelled into the Himalayas until, at a height of two kilometres above sea level where we found ourselves surrounded by men as hard and tough as the mountains that bred them. We negotiated a price of 100 rupees for one of these men to carry our two heaviest bags the 15-minute walk to the hotel with nothing more than rope and a forehead strap. I paid him 300 rupees and his face lit up! We watched the morning mist clear to reveal views of the green Doon Valley and the distant white-capped Himalayan peaks. We rode an elephant up to the Amber Fort of Jaipur, and the next day we painted, washed and fed unpeeled bananas to another elephant, marvelling at her gentle nature as we placed the bananas on her huge bubble-gum coloured tongue.”

“We entered the Taj Mahal, the most romantic place on the planet, and possibly the most beautiful building on earth. We ate curry with our driver in a Delhi street café late at night and had the best chicken tikka I’ve ever tasted in an Agra restaurant. After the madness of Delhi, we were astonished that Agra could be even more mental. And we loved it. We marvelled at the architecture of the Red Fort, where Shah Jahan spent the last three years of his life, imprisoned and staring across at the Taj Mahal, the tomb of his favourite wife. We spent two days in a village constructed specifically for tiger safaris, although I didn’t see a tiger, my wife and son were more fortunate. We noticed in Mussoorie, 230 miles from the Tibetan border, evidence of Tibetan features in the faces of the Indians, and we paid just 770 rupees for the three of us to eat heartily in a Tibetan restaurant. Walking along the road accompanied by a cow became as common place as seeing a whole family of four without crash helmets on a motorcycle, a car going around a roundabout the wrong way, and cars approaching towards us on the wrong side of a duel carriageway. India has no traffic rules it seems.”

“A life coach? What does that mean? It doesn’t mean anything, does it? So they ‘coach’ people on how to live their lives? Why don’t they mind their own fucking business? They only call themselves life coaches because they can’t get a job. Because they’re unemployable. And they haven’t got any qualifications either. Do you think they went to Uni to study life coaching? Of course they didn’t. And who do they coach anyway? Do people go to them and ask to be coached on their lives? I hardly think so. They’d see a psychiatrist or a psychologist or someone with a bit of clout, wouldn’t they? They don’t coach anybody at all, do they? They’ve made it all up. So, there you have it. At the bottom end of the otherworldly, metaphysical scale, even less developed spiritually than Orphans or Horace, are Life Coaches.”

“Sir Richard Francis Burton was a cross between Indiana Jones and Captain Jack Sparrow, with perhaps a little piece of the warrior-poet Aragorn from Lord of the Rings thrown in for good measure. Or maybe I should rephrase that; all these swashbuckling film heroes, including probably John Rambo, may well have been loosely based on Burton and his life”

“There will be times in your life when you need to remain low key. Not everyone needs to know everything about you. Not everyone deserves to know the real you. If they want to criticise you for who they think you are, then let them make that mistake. But you’re not responsible for their thoughts.”

“Your soul may well consist of artists and artisans, crooks and charlatans, writers and wanderers, poets and performers, vagabonds and visionaries, cigar box jugglers and contortionists, sword swallowers, storey-tellers and snake worshippers, fire eaters and fire dancers, human cannonballs, treasure hunters, swashbuckling pirates, pilgrims, Bedouin tribesmen and Gypsies. Everything that’s rash and wild inside of you is striving for freedom. And I’m not asking for this to hit you like an epiphany. It’s not supposed to. But if you read that list of misfits above and gave just the tiniest of nods – even at a deep subliminal level – then you understand”

“Carefree Scamps like you and I go through transition stages from time to time, and one of the exceptional things about life's challenges is that we get to discover what we’re truly capable of. You, my friend, are more spirited, resolute, and fearless than you can ever imagine. And on the flip side you’re more immoral and foolhardy than most people could ever dream of being. Isn’t that great?”

“I want to make one thing clear; although we’re having a little fun at Rag Tag’s expense you can still like him. That is allowed, you know. You can have friends who are Rag Tags, you can enjoy their company, share jokes with them and look forward to seeing them again. And if they’re of the opposite sex you can even shag them! Or the same sex, I guess, if you’re that way inclined. But they’re still Rag Tags, and they’re on a different planet. Or rather, you’re on the Wrong Planet.”

“Through Jimi Hendrix's music you can almost see the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy and of Martin Luther King Junior, the beginnings of the Berlin Wall, Yuri Gagarin in space, Fidel Castro and Cuba, the debut of Spiderman, Martin Luther King Junior’s ‘I Have a Dream’ speech, Ford Mustang cars, anti-Vietnam protests, Mary Quant designing the mini-skirt, Indira Gandhi becoming the Prime Minister of India, four black students sitting down at a whites-only lunch counter in Greensboro North Carolina, President Johnson pushing the Civil Rights Act, flower children growing their hair long and practicing free love, USA-funded IRA blowing up innocent civilians on the streets and in the pubs of Great Britain, Napalm bombs being dropped on the lush and carpeted fields of Vietnam, a youth-driven cultural revolution in Swinging London, police using tear gas and billy-clubs to break up protests in Chicago, Mods and Rockers battling on Brighton Beach, Native Americans given the right to vote in their own country, the United Kingdom abolishing the death penalty, and the charismatic Argentinean Marxist revolutionary Che Guevara. It’s all in Jimi’s absurd and delirious guitar riffs.”

“One story clearly illustrates Anne Bonny's particular mix of comedy and ingenuity. She'd heard of a French Merchantman, loaded down with silks and satins, and decided to attack it. Her plan was quite nuts. She got the crew to smear the sails and the deck of the ship with turtle blood, covered most of the crew with the same blood, dressed one of Bouspeut’s dressmaker dummies in women’s clothing and stood it in the bow of the ship, likewise splashed with blood, and positioned the crew around it like corpses. She then lobbed her tits out and, brandishing a blood-soaked boarding axe, stood quite still over this horrific scene as they sailed out to meet the Merchantman. Sailors are profoundly superstitious and once the Frenchmen caught sight of this demonic ship with the bare-breasted maniac lit by a raging moon, the Frenchmen were so repelled that they gave up without a fight. What theatre!”

“Arab merchants with their long caravans of camels traded Indian spices, hemp, opium and Chinese silk along the Incense Route which linked the Mediterranean world with Egypt, Arabia, India and Java. Although the merchants risked robbery and slavery along the way, the rich women of the Roman Empire could enjoy the perfumes of frankincense and myrrh, the flavours of Eastern spices, and the juices of exotic fruits such as guava, muskmelon and pomegranate”

“I’ve always loved wild people, and Sixteen-String Jack Rann reminds so much of my mate, Dave Brotherton, that it’s uncanny. Not that Dave was ever a highwayman – although he may well have been in a past life – but like Jack he was born with a wild hair up his arse, and that’s all there is to it. He has a savage charisma about him that radiates out of the chaos of his life. His energy comes at you from all directions and watching Dave, when he’s on form, is like trying to keep your eyes on the pattern the sun makes as it bounces off the waves at dusk”

“Did you ever hear what happened to Oliver Cromwell’s head? It was originally lashed to the roof of Westminster Hall as a potent warning not to mess with the government of the day, but in 1685 a violent storm blew it off its perch and a captain of the guard had it away and hid it up his chimney, where it stayed until he admitted the crime on his death bed. So can you picture the scene? Cromwell died in 1658. 27 years later this geezer nicks his head and shoves it up his chimney. He’s about to croak it, the whole family’s gathered around his death bed, everybody’s in tears and they’re all wondering if he’ll come out with any famous last words. Perhaps, “Farewell, my children, forever. I go to your father,” or maybe, “Let us pass over the river and rest under the shade of the trees,” or even, “Don’t let it end like this, tell them I said something.” Not this fucking joker! No! What does he say? He says, “Here Jackie, the sausages tasted a bit off tonight. Did I ever tell you I nicked Oliver Cromwell’s head and shoved it up the chimney? It’s still there,” and he draws back the veil of his earthly life and succumbs to eternal peace. They all look at each other, “What did he fucking say?” “He said he nicked Oliver Cromwell’s head.” “What do you mean; he nicked Oliver Cromwell’s head?” “That’s what he said, don’t blame me!” “Fuck’s sake!” “Well, do you think we should look?” “Don’t talk bollocks! You honestly want to look up the chimney to see if Oliver Cromwell’s head’s up there?” “I’m just saying …..” Anyway, one of them had a look up the chimney, found the head and by 1710 it was appearing in a freak show under the banner, ‘The Monster’s Head.’ True story”

“Ex-Foreign Legionnaires in London, for instance, often use the same pubs, but more than that they all know where to contact each other if ever they’re threatened. If they’re ever in trouble - and by nature of the life they’ve led that’s highly probable - members of their tribe will immediately come from all over London to lend robust assistance. There are similar tribes in the underbelly of every city. I just happen to know about ex-Legionnaires because I’ve come across a couple, drank with them and listened to their stories. It’s like sitting with pirates, fortune-hunters, bank robbers and Gypsies”

“We crossed the Mississippi and on to Illinois. At Starved Rock, 100 miles south of Chicago, we followed 40 or 50 bikers with ‘Bikers against Child Abuse’ as their colours. Next was Indiana, with foggy river towns and vast farmlands, Amish homes in Ohio with smoke curling from the chimneys, then 43 miles of unbroken forests and prime trout-water rivers in West Virginia. We stayed overnight and ate fresh game pie, although whether we were eating possum, rabbit or raccoon we never discovered.”

“I want to sit around a Gypsy campfire, eating freshly caught rabbit in the company of bare knuckle fighters, and listen to stories about their fights. I want to sit with King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table after they’ve defeated the barbarians in battle. I want to be there when Arthur pulls Excalibur from the stone, and I want to be surrounded by dragons, wizards and sorcerers. I want to meet the Muslim leader, Saladin, who occupied Jerusalem in 1187, and despite the fact that a number of holy Muslim places had been violated by Christians, preferred to take Jerusalem without bloodshed. He prohibited acts of vengeance, and his army was so disciplined that there were no deaths or violence after the city surrendered. I want to sit around the desert campfire with him. I want to drink with Caribbean buccaneers of the 17th century and listen to their tales of preying on shipping and Spanish settlements. I want to witness Celtic Berserkers fighting in ritual warfare in a trance-like fury. I want to spend time working on a scrap cruise, the very last cruise before the ship’s due to be scrapped, so there’s no future in it, and it attracts all the mad faces of the Merchant Navy. Faces that are known in that industry, who couldn’t survive outside ‘the life’ and who for the most part are quite dangerous and mad themselves. I’d rather have one friend who’ll fight like hell over ten who’ll do nothing but talk shit. And I want to ride with highwaymen on ribbons of moonlight over the purple moor.”

“The refreshing serenity of mountains, streams and more forests in Pennsylvania gave way to small communities and the more thickly-settled towns of New Jersey. And finally, New York City. It took us six days to get there, and as I crossed the George Washington Bridge I remember thinking how amazing this was. I was back in New York. A city that takes no crap. I was back amongst Carefree Scamps who I could trust with my life”

“All Romani dialects – about 60 in all - contain Armenian words, proof if you will that the Lom Bosha passed through Armenia in the early 11th century, trading spices along the Great Silk Road, that network of ancient trade routes connecting China with the Mediterranean and the Black Sea. The Romani traded Armenian carpets, silk, dyes, lapis lazuli and tin, and it’s no surprise that five capitals of Armenia are on The Great Silk Road.”

“We saw sundials built 300 years ago that are more accurate than any watch or calendar developed electronically today. We got cold feet when it came to crossing the road in Jaipur and decided whatever was on the other side wasn’t worth attempting to cross even on a zebra crossing. We ate in a restaurant that clearly indicated ‘No firearms or guns permitted,’ which made us feel safe. We saw a street fight in Agra over a traffic situation, the only one in the whole ten days. And we learned that when a car driver honks his horn it means, “I’m turning left,” or “I’m turning right,” or “I’m going straight ahead,” or “I’m overtaking on the inside,” or “I’m overtaking on the outside,” or “I just feel like honking my horn for absolutely no reason whatsoever other than I haven’t done it in a while.”

“I call the polar opposites to Wrong Planet people Rag, Tag & Bobtail because they’re really nothing but glove puppets. Their heads are little more than hollow wood and at times they seem to be controlled by strings and rods and levers with invisible hands inside them making them ‘perform.’ Most glove puppets have fixed facial expressions and a hinged mouth, giving them a dull, lifeless expression.”

“The music was intended to replicate or even enhance the mind-altering experiences of the psychedelic drugs. They were using electric guitars, wah-wah pedals, loop music to create ostinato patterns, electric organs, synthesizers (nobody even had any idea what that was at the time, but it was cool to throw it into a conversation), electro-mechanical polyphonic tape replay keyboards, fuzz box effects, backward tapes, you name it. Anything went”

“And then one day we found ourselves in a cornfield. After that it seemed like the whole world was made of corn. It was just the same cornfield over and over. I got to thinking that we'd suddenly be out of it and the Manhattan skyline would pop right up on the other side. But that never happened. The corn went on forever. But eventually we hit the slave state of Missouri, with its constant panorama of rural beauty.”

“The greatest injustice you can do yourself is ‘shapeshifting’ to please others. It’s tiring and debilitating, even to be around someone as fake as this, but basically, it’s ridiculous. Why would anyone, even a Rag Tag, try and pretend to be what they’re not? I’ll tell you. Because they’re trying to hide their darker side behind a veneer of respectability. And they hate you because you don’t do the same. Their psyche leaves them feeling bare and barren inside. And they look at you and they have that hollow feeling of being lost and alone. They live in the gloom of other empty people. They watch how you are, and they understand that the battle they’re fighting isn’t against you at all, it’s against themselves. And for that they hate you. But remember, it’s their choice”

“Within the history of lesbianism from the archaic Greek poet Sappho from the Isle of Lesbos, who is the symbol of lust, passion and sensuality between women, to Sister Benedetta Carlini’s deeply erotic love affair with another nun, to the 10th century Arab erotic work, Encyclopedia of Pleasure, which gives the account of a love affair between a Christian and an Arab woman, to modern day same-sex marriages and Pride parades, there is certainly place for Anne Bonny and Mary Read.”