circa 1999
that doesn't matter to most of us who come to shows for music that will make us feel something, anything really, anything to make us wake up, thrash around a bit, and step back out of the medicated trance of smog. anything that stands true to smashing the daily dailies.
those of us hardened, retarded, by the bullshit of wake-up work monotony and power suits made in some country that we've never been able to afford to visit ... we sit and wait for the doors to be opened to a murder spree of practicality, of paperwork, of active brain tissue that we consider POW.
bored with the scene, the music, the news, you know? all the true lies that never get proven innocent.
i see these tattoos, studded belts, and steel-toed boots, and i say, there's a culture. an entire country of disembodied americans, ripe for the pickin', that won't take the room service shit delivered every morning when the alarm clock goes off.
of course, veils are lifted, and my optimism kind of squirms and falls over cold and dead.
do you want to know the problem with boston? fuck you. i'll tell you anyway.
youth was once regarded as rebellious, exuberant, and illogical. youth was once the life blood of every heart of every city. youth was this ticktickticking time bomb of unreasonable and, better yet, insatiable hunger for change. youth used to be young by nature.
now? forced and conditioned to grow up and gain some sense about the business machine, the pop pop pop of commerce, the fantastical intricacies of pushing the paper that guides our nation to progress.
progress, as a word, used to contain connotations of freedom of choice, financial gain, and a generally better and more secure lifestyle. that's obivously gotten a bit skewed as we see progress has been pigeon-holed into the technological advancement binder on some suit's shelf. progress has become runs in her pantyhose, lunch meetings, and a call on line 2.
but i'm feeding you anti-corporate bullshit that's been overprocessed. it can't taste that good.
thinking of progress in these terms and our youth's increased dash toward "adulthood" ... youth has no chance to grow and destroy on its own terms. by being given this anal retentive schedule, youth has sacrificed its heart, its nature, its coup.
again, plate full of semantic bullshit.
what's wrong with boston? it starts here.
punk rock, by nature, is young. punk's not dead. i'll tell you what happened to punk. it lost the mohawk, stashed the wallet chain in the attic (sentimental attachment), and invested in the rising mutual funds of who-the-fuck-cares. it now runs a small (failing) quirky coffee shop with decent decaf and slightly stale bagels. having marriage troubles and a receeding hairline, punk started seeing a shrink in NoHo (with prescription advantages) on mondays and thursdays.
fuck punk. where are its children? where is its life blood? where the fuck did punk go wrong?
i'll tell you what's wrong with boston. its "punks" have become decent human beings. they make a living, make appearances at parties, and slap on the hair gel out of habit. the boston punks wait in line and sit patiently for shows to start.
didn't we used to rage? there was a raucous, a slashing of metaphorical tires, a freefall of amazing proportions. they used to keep this city on its toes (or knees).... so i've been told.
now, they're soft. they don't grab you by the collar and demand you choose your own life. they didn't give a fuck if you chose khakis as long as you consciously made your choice.
now, they sit patiently, mentally beaten into submission, manipulated out of their freedom of choice, coerced into stability and middle age security.
choosing it, something, anything, and fucking running with it ... that's what punks live and die for.
boston has no choices left.
