Alice Munro, Friend of my Youth
scorpios are uncontrollably hungry with desire. and its for something they can’t quite grab a hold of - like mystery or literature or a warm body. they hear the sounds of the visible and invisible worlds and their empty longings carve a deep wound in their spirit. scorpios either overeat or starve. there is no half way with these individuals
Anthony Green was awesomely interactive with the crowd, and went as far as rubbing mud all over people’s faces. I was stained with blood throughout the night from Gwar. Henry Rollins hogged the mic during the panel, being the insufferable dickhead that he is, but it was essential to hear Nadya and Masha’s input on eradicating the misogynistic mindset and strengthening the punk rock/feminist movement. Every time Mastodon began to play a song, a chick turned to me and we both belted out how fucking amazing it was. I shared my “Plum Juice” with a strikingly appealing woman during The Offspring. Slayer, as expected, SLAYED.
I nearly got my ribs crushed during Wavves. Worth it. The drummer for RX Bandits could’ve have looked happier with where he was. The Buzzcocks put on a great show; but I’ll also mention that if you don’t want to be hit, have bodies bounce off you, or dance among the crowd, leave the fucking pit, and don’t rip other people apart who are enjoying themselves. A guy asked me to dance and I accepted; we twirled around and slow danced in the pit at it’s highest level of intensity during Saosin. I watched a hair-pulling confrontation as Fat Mike chugged bottles of beer on stage. I was enveloped in a cloud of marijuana smoke during Wu-Tang. Metric’s set had me in a state of transcendence and beaming the entire time. BEAUTIFUL performance. Milo of the Descendents still has a decent amount of that 80’s punk vibe inside of him. It is acceptable to use the word “Danzig” in the form of a noun or an adjective. With that being said, Samhaim was so…Danzig.
The Bouncing Souls had a bunch of fun with the cameras. Silverstein brought out the inner angst that we all forgot we had seven years ago. As I crowd surfed during Andrew WK, I watched my muddy boot smear across someone’s face. Whoops. I caught a few of my favorite songs by Motion City Soundtrack before rushing across the park. I ran into a friend who was working sound for Tegan and Sara, so I was able to watch them from backstage. I couldn’t stop shaking from excitement for two hours afterwards. Through her speech and music, Patti Smith took out my soul, hugged it, and gently placed it back inside of my body with a new world of enlightenment for it. I got super wasted and listened to Social Distortion from the curb. Weezer blew my head up. So good, so fucking good that my voice is now gone from singing along to their entire set.
Bank of memory,
spare me from reverting to the architecture of failure - where the dead chance of amelioration is inside the debris from “call-you-never” division
She slid passion-shaped bullets from her tongue to mine,
and I am the seminal repercussion of it all.
And when no one is watching, we look back over our shoulder; back to pattering wings of Oakworm moths,
the concrete upon the throat of a stream,
curled leaves on a merry-go-round,
all within the woods where she shared her secrets with the sycamores,
as I slipped notes through her car window
”Meet me here. Meet me anywhere.”
Furthering in separate growth, we are attached to the same roots that link two hearts with inactive intimacy;
but I am designed to be held from faraway
faraway, like the shrillness of a siren thinned out -
from the harbor
to the center of the ocean