I watched the end of SLC Punk! and had something of a revelation.

Punk is a load of ----ing ----.

Think about it seriously. Everyone's a poser. Everyone's fake in everyone else's eyes. And then theres the groups of punks who may be real punks, and may even be anarchists or whatever, and may have mohawks or whatever, but when you think about it, it's a form of rebellion, but, as i quite painfully realised it as the girl at the party said to Steve-o,
that's hardly rebellion is it?
It's a uniform. It's conforming by non-conforming. Or something.
I don't know. It's pretty late at night for me and this blog is completely spur of the moment and i am thinking on my.... not feet, my fingers that are typing stuntedly and making lots of mistakes and deleting every swear i make because i've just remembered we're not allowed profanity here.

But... you know, today, funnily enough... i may just remember today forever.

Today, for the first time i think, i was a punk. First day of being punk, for real. If you want to contest me on that, please don't. I don't want to know anymore. Never did in fact.
But today was a day when i walked down the town high street and got abuse either hurled or subtly dropped on me by strangers, some even completely adult strangers.
And for some reason, i felt completely fine with it.
For some reason i was even happy about it i think.

Even the kid who said "f-ck, you're UGLY!" in the bus station, for no apparent reason, and then all his freinds laughed, that didn't insult me, but kind of... made me feel stonger.
He probably couldn't see my face, now i think about it, not from the bottom of the nose up. But he still felt the need, as soon as i walked into the bus shelter, to express his digust at my appearance. Or something like that.


But i got back home, stood in front of the mirror, smiled and thought "keep in mind for future reference: In Halifax, these are riot-starting clothes. They cause friction. Gosh, i love friction"



You know, i'm not changing how i dress because of my revelation. I get a buzz from looking different. Simple as. Selfish as. I don't know anymore punks. I'm a fool on a hill. And a fool in a school. And a fool walking down the town high street smiling inside. And a fool at a computer table.


And i still listen to the music and don't feel any different about it... i don't think.
I've only had half an hour or so to think about it. I dunno.
'Kay so now i'm listening to The Ramones, Endless Vacation.
And that doesn't feel any different.
It's still the kind of music i want to play, want to make a career of, however old and dead the whole thing is now.
The music counts for something i think.

A few months back, i made a blog about needing a new movement, seeing as how punk had died so disgracefully. Vicious commented on that blog. She's banned now, which i think's bad, because without really knowing her all that well, i thought she was pretty awesome.

But she told me i seemed the kind of person who could start a movement.





Ach. It's late. I'm confused. It's been a mentally taxing day.

I'm fourteen. FOURTEEN.

And i feel OLD all of a sudden.


But yes. I think i may have said all i intended to say when i ran back onto the computer needing to have a verbal spew.

If you want to complain.

Don't.

Please.

Thankyou.

Ta.