| es nekad nebiju/nebūšu panks. |
[Nov. 30th, 2006|11:37 am] |
«punk rock love is fucking behind the dumpster down the street from the show. fucking in the shower at the hotel carlton. making out in the recycle bin. looking at her tattoos while she's asleep. taking showers together. playing checkers with cigarette butts. watching her band play. dumpstering veggies together and then going back to her place and cooking up a feast. knowing the same parts of the same songs. both of you having the same ex-girlfriend.
punk rock love is having to tie her shoes for her because she's too drunk. kissing under the overpass. her sending you her whole diary to read. her giving you ten rolls of duct tape for your birthday. her beating up skinheads. going to the prom on her motorcylce and checking in the helmets at the coatcheck. getting astonished stares from all the jocks who thought you were gay; now they feel dumb because you're with an older punk rock bombshell, and they're with their friend's little sister.
punk rock love is meeting her outside the club, and her saying, "come home with me or i'm gonna kick your fucking ass." going home with her, and she almost kicks your ass anyway. sharing hairdye. riding double on a bike. being loud and not caring. sneaky eyes and sleeveless t-shirts. the sun coming up, and you realizing that there's other people on the beach. a good sleazy one- week-stand. still being friends afterwards. most of the time.
punk rock love is her sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet you in the park. running your fingers over her spikey hair. her chewing on a flower, and you having to call poison control when her tongue swells up. bringing her to the laundromat for a date. sharing a sleeping bag and waking up freezing in the middle of the night and her, blurry eyed, trying to heat it up with a blowdrier. social unrest playing "ever fallen in love?" at the gig you're both at the night after she dumps you hard. starting smoking again after that night.
punk rock love is her drawing on you. her sleeping on your back. her being mad at you for being such a jerk. her thinking it's cool that you stink and your hair stands up by itself. her having weird roommates who worship eggs. you waiting in the doorway for hours hoping she might pass by, even in the snow. her singing along with descendents records over the air on her late night radio show. her picture on the front page of the morning paper getting arrested. her borrowing your favorite black hat and never giving it back.
punk rock love is finding a girl who drinks as much coffee as you do. going into the cafe where she works, and she looks up and smiles and doesn't notice as she tips over a pile of fifty dishes. they hit the floor one by one, and when it's all done, everyone in the cafe applauds. you both turn beet red.
punk rock love is both of you doing fanzines. years later, she is teaching english to college freshmen, and you're still doing fanzines. her wearing glasses even though her eyes are fine, using crutches even though her legs are fine, and talking with a fake speech impediment. you're just thinking it's rad girl style, until later, when someone brings up the concept of self-imposed handicaps.
punk rock love is getting your first kiss and almost losing your virginity at the same time. meanwhile you're trying not to wake up the other person sleeping in the same bed. groping in the bushes by the freeway, and later you realize that all the passing cars could see you. exploring the wasteland together. holding hands out on the fire escape. lying in the grass in her backyard. lying on the astroturf in her bedroom. drinking tequila on her porch on your birthday. riding on her motorcycle early in the cold morning, and you're holding on tight and steam is rising off of the river. you're thinking how she is maybe even better than the ramones.
punk rock love is both being broke. love letters. finding out she sang "stay free" at her high school talent show. finding out she's a little crazier than you thought when you finally get her in bed. her boyfriend getting mad. walking around with her and her nephew, and everyone is giving you dirty looks because they think he's your kid. walking around with her and being happy and proud. being sad together. being sad by yourself. missing her.»
© aaron wohl,
from May 1992 Cometbus |
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| Comments: |
Dalja no taa izklausaas peec paradiizes, paareejais - peec dziives.
Man liekas, dzilji iekshaa katrs no mums veelas kaut dalju no taa visa.. bet varbuut es kljuudos.
![[User Picture]](http://klab.lv/userpic/84702/11765) | | From: | ![[info]](http://klab.lv/img/userinfo.gif) efa |
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| Date: | November 30th, 2006 - 12:12 pm |
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nu īstā dzīvē jābūt kautkam no paradīzes - citādi jau nav īpašas jēgas dzīvot.
es vēlos vismaz daļu no tā. varbūt pat visu. un domāju ka vismazi daži cilvēki arī vēlētos kautko līdzīgu
es CERU, ka ir cilveki, kas veelas vismaz kaut ko no taa. es CERU, jo tas liek domaat par to, ka cilveekos veel ir palikusi sirds, taa uguntinja, kas vinjus padara iistus un skaistus; tas, par ko vinjus buutu veerts miilet. bet cilveeki no taa visa meedz sleepties. es nezinu, kaapec.
| | From: | efa |
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| Date: | November 30th, 2006 - 12:48 pm |
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es arī ceru. un ticu ka ir, ir tādi cilvēki. varbūt viņu nav daudz, bet viņi ir
![[User Picture]](http://klab.lv/userpic/165754/5552) | | From: | coda |
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| Date: | December 1st, 2006 - 03:02 am |
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vislabāk man patīk tas, ka, tādā vārākā noskaņojumā, hihg fidelity vietā ietakstās high difelity.
un vārāks noskaņojums irpec vīna pudeles iztukšošanas.
šeit.
I felt like a fraud. I felt like one of those people who suddenly shave their heads and said they'd always been punks. I was sure I'd be discovered at any second.
no High Fidelity.
allaž ienāk prātā, kad runa ir par punks.
i guess that's just how i feel although i've always been one.
| | From: | efa |
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| Date: | December 1st, 2006 - 10:13 am |
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es parasti atceros Miku Odiņu =) kikbokseri-dzejnieku ar lauztu dgunu =) tas bij sen, bet tikuntā - satriecoši =) | |
