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I’m scared to go to prison and I’m scared of the police. But I’m sick of being afraid, a whiny suburban kid. So be tough, but be good to humans and animals alike. I’ll have to work on that. It’s easier to pet a dog than to not insult a man and I’m lying if I say that I’m doing all I can. Mostly I’m afraid of boredom and what it might do to me. Rattus rattus is a better metaphor than I thought. As afraid of the trap as of being free. And as scary as I look, I’d rather chew my own leg off than die alone. I must of slept for a decade already, in bed and out. And so have you.
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2. |
Too Stupid to Stop
01:50
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We have the necessary tools to make a lot of noise. Let’s make it last and hit every note like a pig, in the gut. But these blows land in the sand and sink where all good things go, deep into the earth, all the optimisms unearned. Screaming at a wall of drunks and dependents, and all we can do is dance. We wanted to be savages, and we suffer the same fate as those written off centuries ago. Imperial ebb and flow. Scene politics and alcohol have torn us all to shreds. No justice, no peace, and no resistance from this old nag of a movement. I’m hardly one to be lecturing, but we’ve all heard it said: all the kids don’t care, and punk is dead.
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3. |
Scenery
02:01
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We don’t have shit they haven’t threatened to take. Going after everything they think will make you break. From the bored kids, to the suicidal psychiatrists, everyone for their own interests like good capitalists. And we’ve taken it, for years and years, sitting here thinking we have nothing to fear. But fuck that, and fuck us, what are we doing sitting around, taking in the sights and sounds of a fascist state? Just sit still and wait. Everything you want’s in a waiting room somewhere, with shitty old newsrags and a blank stare. Yeah, I’m shocked and appalled, just a little dismayed: everyone’s only thoughts are getting paid, laid, or entertained. When there’s a state to smash, kids to be fed, so many adults better off dead. We are trash, and on garbage we’re fed. So what shall we abuse today? Drugs, alcohol, our kids, or just our own brains? Mind-numbing monotony, teenage, middle-age, geriatric lobotomy. Simple tasks of waking up, into town, tie tight, eyes down. Every rule and principle, followed to the syllable, listening attentively, dreamily, unforgivably to words of wisdom, following ‘em, instead of killing ‘em. And I’m the worst of ‘em all, a hypocrite with less wit than witlessness, wishing to impress for its own sake, talking about give and take when there’s a state to smash, kids to be fed, so many adults better off dead. We are trash, and on garbage we’re fed. So forget yourself in the rhythm. Let it all go slowly. Soon enough you won’t feel dumb, useless, or lonely. Because the dead feel nothing, and we might as well be. Just look at me, spewing rot and wishing I was somewhere far-off, blue sky, no questions or reasons for why. But it’s not to be, not for me, or any of us. In the beat we trust, and little else.
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sHOCKED & dISMAYED Helena, montana
4 years and still going! We've lasted longer than most celebrity marriages! To our two former members and five fans, we love you more than life itself! [of course, since our collective philosophies mix utilitarianism with nihilism and general hopelessness, that isn't very much] ... more
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