We stood in your room and laughed out loud. Suddenly the laughter died and we were caught in an eye to eye. We sat on the floor and did we sit close. I could smell your thoughts and thought. Do you want to touch a lot like me?
You were the first one I’d ever met who understood why everything seemed backwards to me. And now we can’t even talk, which still seems backwards to me. But if moving apart helps you move forward then maybe one day we’ll be in the same place and we’ll laugh like we used to every day.
“[DIY punk] is a reminder that the artificial separation between artist and audience is an arbitrary one based on a power relationship that I find harmful.”—Todd Taylor: A Ghost, Razorcake #80 (via kevinsucks420)
By the time I was twelve years old—old enough to go and experience select things on my own, without parental supervision, but far too young to be out after 9 p.m. without it—I started getting a weekly allowance.
I love that these guys are still at it, and continue to write solid punk rock jams. Samiam were one of my “gateway” bands in the early 90’s that opened me up to other Bay Area punk bands (cough cough Jawbreaker), New Red Archives and other California bands of that ilk.
Forget the loudest love songs we sang under your attic. They always felt too quiet. We should scream until the police shriek, “Hold it down.” We’ll tell them, “Yeah, alright.” then bang the amplifiers. We’re not violent. We’re just some dumb kids getting wasted and knowing we’re alive. There is anger, but it is just. It is power. The kids are still alright. We’re just too high to fight. And it’s brave to be polite and to wear fake leather. So, I carved your name in mine and I thought all about how we stumble around until gravity sleeps and you slip and fall into me.