Monday, August 20, 2007


We all have them, no matter how large, or how poorly hidden they are. Dinner with my father this evening started off on an odd topic, mortality. My dad has been reflecting on his life a lot lately. He said he is not getting any younger, and is starting to think about what can be done with the life he has left to live, what can and cannot be done. My father told me he doesn't have a lot of time here left. What is that suppose to mean? How do I take that? Yes, my father is getting up there in years, and I have never expected him to live to be that old, with the way he has treated his body. One of my father's favorite lines is "If I would have none that I would have grown to be this damn old, I'd have taken better care of myself." Does my dad know something I don't? Some finalized time line that he has left on earth? My dad said he has a lot of regrets, but the regrets that most haunt late in the night when dreams tear you apart. The things that he regrets the most are the things he didn't do, never got the chance, or never got the courage to go through with. He told me this to warn me, so I wouldn't have the same regrets. He, like most of us, wants to leave something behind, to mark that he did something, to mark that at least he was here. We all want some greater meaning to this life, we are all so scarred that our mortality means nothing. He started talking about politics and he would like to do something like that, but knows that he has too many skeletons buried in his past, that are waiting to be dug up. My dad paused after he said and looked at me and said, "You poor kid, how did you survive me all these years?" Love, is how I survived him, love was the only tie stronger enough to ease the years of built up anger frustration of growing up to quickly and having to become my own parent.

Life is precious no matter how much time we think we have left. Do one thing everyday that scares you. Take the risks you never thought you could, and do the things you don't think you have time for. Cherish your loved ones, live with as little regrets as possible, even if that means stepping out of your comfort zone. Talk to the person who might have your eye, step out on a limb and make the first move. Make a list of life's to-do's and actually follow through with them, check them off. Take the time to know what you want from love, and don't settle for any less. Appreciate what you have, and the family that surrounds you. Simply live and love with every ounce of who you are.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Punk is Dead

There, I said it! Happy now?

Punk is dead, and has been replaced with snot–nosed white suburban asshats. Punk died the night Sid Vicious OD’d. Punk was anti-establishment, anti-mainstream, it was all about damning the man going against the pop culture, and setting your own rules. Now? Now I am left with this? Screamo, emo crap!? I like most of the music that bands like this put out to an extent. But the scene, the community, ha there is none. It is a bunch of middle class kids trying to be hip and cool, making sure they have the right fashion, which is exactly what punk was against. What happened to the anti-government, doing things our own way?

It was an angry pit last night. And not in the comradely way of fuck the man! They were angry at each other. Years spent learning passive aggressiveness from parents who bottle everything up, and the combination of too much testosterone. Yes, moshing is a time to let this out; I know this. I love this normally. But in the pit you have a sense of community, brotherhood with each other. There is certain etiquette you follow while moshing. RULE #1: When someone falls down you help them up. You do NOT kick them in the head! When someone loses something and you find it on the floor you hold it up in order for the owner to claim it. You jackasses don’t know what slam dancing is anymore. Shows are not fucking excuses to kick the living shit out of someone just because you feel like it. The show didn’t call for that kind of anger; it wasn’t a super angry show! When I, yes a girl, has to break up your fighting because you pushed the kid down into me and started punching him, it is NOT OK!! You told me to lay off; I said fuck you this is not what shows are for. I am not afraid to start something because I will pull the “I am a girl” card and get you kicked out because you are ruining the concert I came to see. All of you fuck dweebs who can’t play nice in the pit and get pissed off because someone ran into you a little extra hard, need to leave now.

We no longer have a movement to be angry with; no one talks about taking down the government. We put our anger aside and then take it out on each other. Are we seriously too apathetic of a generation to not be able to direct our anger to, oh I don’t know, the government who is fucking shit up? The war? There are millions things to be upset about, but you have to take out on people you haven’t met. That’s it, I am done! You all have ruined a great show for me. You come here to hook up and to be in the scene. I hate your mainstream clothes, your crappy hair; and by the way you look like a fucking girl! Seriously? Man-pris? You are wearing man capris?

*Storms off, to kick the shit out of the next scene/emo asshat she sees.*

From SLC Punk:

Stevo: The Fight: What does it mean and where does it come from? An Essay: Homosapien. A man. He is alone in the universe. A punker. Still a man. He is alone in the universe, but he connects. How? They hit each other. No clearer way to evaluate whether or not you're alive. Now. Complications. A reason to fight. Somebody different. Difference creates dispute. Dispute is a reason to fight. Now, to fight is a reason to feel pain. Life is pain. So to fight with reason is to be alive with reason. Final analysis: To fight, a reason to live. Problems and Contradictions: I am an anarchist. I believe that there should be no rules, only chaos. Fighting appears to be chaos. And when we slam in the pit at a show it is. But when we fight for a reason, like rednecks, there's a system, we fight for what we stand for, chaos. Fighting is a structure, fighting is to establish power, power is government and government is not anarchy. Government is war and war is fighting. The circle goes like this: our redneck skirmishes are cheap perversions of conventional warfare. War implies extreme government because wars are fought to enforce rules or ideals, even freedom. But other people ideals forced on someone else, even if it is something like freedom, is still a rule; not anarchy. This contradiction was becoming clear to me in the fall of '85. Even as early as my first party, "Why did I love to fight?" I framed it, but still, I don't understand it. It goes against my beliefs as a true anarchist. But there it was. Competition, fighting, capitalism, government, THE SYSTEM. That's what we did. It's what we always did. Rednecks kicked the shit out of punks, punks kicked the shit out of mods, mods kicked the shit out of skinheads, skinheads took out the heavy metal guys, and the heavy metal guys beat the living shit out of new wavers and the new wavers did nothing. What was the point? Final summation? None.

Stevo: I rest my case on this: In a country of lost souls rebellion comes hard. But in a religiously oppressive city, where half its population isn't even of that religion, it comes like fire.

HerionBob: Well, it's a crazy fucked up world and we're all just floating along waiting for someone who can walk on water, man.

*Storms back* By the way I blame this on our nation’s puritanical “afraid of sex”-ness; our nation’s sexual frustration has turned into a blood lust. *huff* But that is a different post.
*Storms off*