bat shades represent me being blind as a bat

hi :3

i fucking love being a crust punk. people just look at me and know i hate the government and have jumped neonazis before. it fucking rules

"Hello?"

"ONE TIME FOR YOUR MIND, TWO TIMES FOR YOUR SOUL..."

Sometimes I can't remember my social, or my phone number, but I've had Skinhead Rob's "rap" memorized since high school.

My sainted husband sighs, deep and heavy...no doubt wishing he'd married someone normal or at least declined my call, but he does let me continue. He's never hung up on me once, and I call him to rap at him often. When I'm finished, he asks me if I've considered not being like this.

No, no I have not.

Mixtape Monday! Can I ask you to make a battle jacket mix please?

I spent a really long time on this. It was exceedingly difficult to find songs strictly about battle jackets (I only found one!), so I included songs that mention adjacent topics. The Daycare Swindlers are on here because Mark Reiter of DC Swindlers once said: “It’s not about wearing your heart on your sleeve, it’s about making a whole fucking jacket out of it,” which pretty much sums up my entire ethos and is also where I got the title of this mix.

While looking for songs to include, I also remembered this Imogen Binnie quote:

“Her jacket is a work of art. There’s a Kids in the Hall skit where Satan gives a stoner the ability to grow weed out of his head in exchange for his perfect denim jacket: that’s the kind of denim jacket Maria has. Satan would kill for her jacket. Here are its patches: The Bouncing Souls, White Zombie, the word fuck, a little girl holding giant scissors (on plaid), Hello My Name Is DYKE, and, the coup de grace, the whole back is the cover of the first Poison album. It’s not even ironic. Poison rules.” – Imogen Binnie, Nevada

Which in turn led me to this essay (which is about metal battle jackets, whereas I’m more well-versed in punk battle jackets, but it’s still a really good essay).

I also came across this page, where you can peruse photos of some truly excellent battle jackets.

it’s about making a whole fucking jacket out of it

Daycare Swindlers - Big Show (Stomp your steel tip boots some more / Not enough movement on the dance floor)

The Queers - Punk Rock Girls (Leather jackets, stupid boyfriends / Poor report cards, life is just a ball / Hi- top Chucks and bubblegum / And oh my gosh, I'd love to love 'em all / They're so cool their style is never cramped / Too much of everything, and everyone is amped / Well, don't get hot and bothered / Listen, I know I got problems / I also know just what this goofy world needs / Yummy yummy punk rock girls)

Mary Monday & The Bitches - I Gave My Punk Jacket to Rickie

Who Killed Spikey Jacket? - Punks Dress Punk (Don't let them tell you how to dress / Let ME tell you how to dress / Wear studs.)

Mischief Brew - Punx Win! (So, I collect these crumpled, / Beer-stained flyers, / Seven-inches, photographs, / All your old letters that remind me / To look down and back. / Its then I realize our romance / Has its roots in one sub-humans patch.)

Last night I got invited to a house show. Upon further realization, it's got a new name, but it's at The Dustbin, the punk house I l lived in over a 20 years ago. I'm kind of freaking out and excited to see what it's like now. I thought the owner sold it, but it's still a collective house, just with a new name.

Do I tell them the reason the kitchen is an odd shape because they ripped out one of the bedrooms after they found out someone was cooking meth in that room? Are their still holes in the floor so you can see into the basement? Did someone paint over the story written on the under the stairs door scrawled by a zine kid? Does anyone still live in the L shaped mudroom I lived in? Do random traveling punx still show up to sleep on the couch on the porch? Do any of the new denizens fall asleep in their bedroom when touring bands play like I did when Hot Hot Heat played in our living room?

I met Aaron Cometbus for the first time in that kitchen. I was dressed in footie pajamas and carrying a a Punky Brewster lunchbox at a Halloween party.

Chapter 19, i'm nut(s) okay, i promise

AN: plz stup flaming da story if u do ur a foken prep n ur jelous ok!11 frum noq un im gong 2 delt ur men reviowz!111 BTW evonyd a poorblod so der!1 fangz 2 raven 4m da help!11

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All day we sat angerly finking about Till. We were so fucking pissed off. Well, I had one thing to look forward too- da Andre Hazes concert. It had been postphoned, so we could all go.

Anyway, I went to the common room sadly to cut classes. Richard was being all secretive.

I asked what it was and he got all mad me and started crying all hot and angsty (rnt sensitve bi guyz so hot).

“No one fucking understands me!1” he shouted angrily as his black hare went in his big blue eyes. He was wearing black baggy paints, a black Rammstein t-shirt and a black die. (geddit insted of tie koz im goffik Editors note: after 19 chapters of you pointing it out, I think we geddit.) I was wearing a blak leather low cut top with chains all over it all over it a blak leather hotpants, black high held boots and a cross belly fing (A rosary? I thought you were goffik). My hair was al up in a perfect little donut. (email me if u wana see da pik)

“Accuse me? What about me!” I growled.

“Buy-but-but-” he grunted.

“You fucking bastard!” I moaned.

“No! Wait! It’s not what it fucking looks like!” he shouted.

But it was to late. I knew what I herd. I ran to the bathroom angrily, cring. Richard banged on the door. I whipped and whepped as my blody eyeliner streammed down my cheeks and made cool tears down my feces like Benji in the video for Girls and Bois (raven that is soo our video!). I TOOOK OUT A CIGARETE END STARTED TO smoke pot.

Suddenly Hargrid came. He had appearated.

“You gave me a fucking shock!” I shouted angrily dropping my pot. “Wtf do you fink you’re doing in da gurl’s room?”

Only it wasn’t just Hargrid. Someone else was with him too! For a second I wanted it 2 b Tom Rid or maybe Richard but it was Till.

“Hey I need to ask you a question.” he said, pulling out his black wanabe-goffik purse. “What are u wearing to the concert?”

“U no who Andre Hazes r!” I gasped.

“No I just saw there was a concert dat a lot of gothz and punx were going 2.” He said. “Anyway Richard has a surprise for u.” 

URL Song Game

I was tagged by @shibarulata, Thank you! I have a long username and yet I still have trouble narrowing things down. Some are silly songs (Things That Make You Go Hmm & They're Coming to Take Me Away), others are meaningful (Brother & I'll Be Your Lover, Too). I don't think anything I picked was released in the last decade. Well, the Dick Jr & the Volunteers was released recently-ish but the song itself isn't new.

B - "Brother" by NeedtoBreathe (performed by Jensen Ackles) E - "Escape (The Piña Colada Song)" by Rupert Holmes A - "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" by Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell T - "Thieves in the Temple" by Prince R - "Raspberry Beret" by Prince (performed by Dick Jr. and the Volunteers) I - "I'll Be Your Lover, Too" by Van Morrison C - "Carry on Wayward Son" by Kansas E - "Eight Days a Week" by The Beatles

C - "Cherry Bomb" by The Runaways R - "The Regulator" by Clutch U - "Under the Bridge" by Red Hot Chili Peppers M - "Map of Tasmania" by Amanda Palmer feat. The Young Punx P - "Paradise City" by Guns N' Roses L - "Love Potion No. 9" by the Clovers (performed by The Searchers) E - "Eskimo" by Louden Swain B - "Black Betty" by Huddie "Lead Belly" Ledbetter (performed by Ram Jam) O - "Oh Pretty Woman" by Roy Orbison T - "Things That Make You Go Hmmmm" by C+C Music Factor T - "They're Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haa!" by Napoleon XIV O - "One Week" by Barenaked Ladies M - "Miniature Disasters" by KT Tunstall

I'm a few days behind on my feed because of real life, so I don't know who all have been tagged, so take this a tag if you haven't been tagged yet and want to play!

wait actually, what are ur punk recs, I love punk recs

- against me! (my favourite band. Also read Laura Jane Grace’s autobiography if you find the time)

- the muslims

- dog park dissidents

- bad cop bad cop

- she/her/hers

- schmekel

- horrible girl and the hot mess

- hunx & his punx

- the butchies

- L7

- x-ray spex

- tribe 8

- bikini kill

- G.L.O.S.S.

(Some of these are really famous punk bands everyone knows for people who want to get into punk music)

Tik tok bring cannon to the dsmp is very sad but also very funny.

C!Punz posts daily videos that get millions of views because they’re hot. The latest one is Punx throwing it back in Dreams base with the caption “I think my boss is evil lmao. He just killed somebody:(“

My Ancestral Homeland, Southeastern Wisconsin

Once upon a January night, I drank all the whiskey in Kenosha and almost punched three dudes.

The evening began with me donning babe-layers, black denim jacket layered in patches (Punk’s Not Dead, We Just Smell That Way) over hoodie over t-shirt, tight pants, boots; the weather was cold as shit but I wasn’t gonna wear a heavy winter coat, cos you can’t dance in a heavy winter coat. Then a slick of red lipstick, and off I went. South down Highway 32 to Kenowhere, snow falling fast from the sky and the wind blowing it across the road in swirls, me shouting ragged-voiced along with Naked Raygun: what poor gods we do make. I grabbed Beagan, and we headed to Hattrix. Hattrix is one of the focal points of the punk scene in Kenosha; it has been for years, even back when it was called The Cavern. I’d never been there before, despite the fact that I’ve been going to punk shows in Kenosha for half my life.

Hattrix is still sorta like a cave, with walls made to look like red rock, and it was chilly, damp, voices echoed and bounced through the near-empty bar. Not many people showed up, the weather was bitter-wind and snow, but there were some of us true believers there. Punx from colder climes are way more hardcore than our cousins from warmer lands, cos we have to brave polar vortexes and snow-covered streets to go out to the show. The crowd was small, but most of the people there were rad as fuck. Most of the people there, I wanted to hug or high-five - not counting those three dudes I almost punched. I got my first drink, doublewhiskeycoke (with ice, sorry), and the bartender was an old friend of mine, so he poured the double more like a triple. First drink all sweaty in my hand, a few sips in, I was feeling good, and shitty dude number one walked up to us. He squeezed Beagan’s breasts by way of greeting. He’s someone we’ve both known for years; he’s a gay guy and he thinks it’s okay to grope women and people he perceives as women because when he does it, it’s not ‘sexual.’ Unwanted touching is assault, dude, whether you mean it in a sexual way or not; I’ve tried to tell him that and he’s never listened, and I was not gonna put up with it that night. You grope my best friend and I’ll fucking drop you. Beagan grimace-smiled and backed away, someone else he knew entered the bar, and he walked away to talk to them before I had the opportunity to break his nose. I sipped some whiskey’n’coke, said ‘hey’ to some familiar faces, was about to go watch the first musician, then some punk rock fuckboy spotted my Against Me! button and made a transmisogynistic comment about Laura Jane Grace, and yeah, I wanted to break his nose, too, but instead, I said: “You’re just jealous cos she’s into girls, and you know you could never get a woman as hot or talented as she is, cis or trans.” I hadn’t even been there an hour, hell, I wasn’t even drunk yet, and I’d already wanted to fight twice, ugh. Bartender, gimme another triple-double, I’m gonna go listen to the music.

On the stage stood a solo kid from Chicago, with the ubiquitous midwest punk look: silly hairdo (half-shaved, floppy, mint green) half-hidden under a black Carhartt stocking cap, plaid flannel shirt, dirty black jeans, scuffed black steel-toe boots. They were super cute, and though I only caught the last few songs of their set, I loved the music: stripped-down, plugged-in yet kinda folky-punk, Billy Bragg-style; raw and open-hearted. I’ve become disillusioned with folkpunk as A Thing, but when I first heard folkpunk I said it was more punk than straight-up punk and I still have a deep love for us solo punx (cos I’m one of ‘em): when we get up there on stage, whether we play electric or acoustic, whether we play guitar or accordion or a fucking pickle-tub drum, it’s just us and our instruments and our voices and our hearts that we’ve made into jackets and if we fuck up everyone hears it cos we don’t have a band to back us up or distract from us and we are so vulnerable and so brave and we do it because we have to, we so need to play music that we’ll do it even without a band.

Between bands, another drink, I started feeling the whiskey and it was good, good to be whiskey-drunk, fuel and grease loosening my limbs. Going outside to smoke, collars up against the wind and hands cupped around flickering flames. Inside, talking to old familiars and new faces. I talked with the solo mint-haired punk, told them I liked their music; we talked about Chicago, turned out they live in one of the neighborhoods I used to live in. Then there was the third dude who came close to having my fist in his face - another guy I’ve known forever. He’s a decent dude when he’s sober, but when he’s fucked up he gets stupid, and that night he was drunk and on some kind of pill-high; he tried to hit on both me and Beagan and didn’t back off even when we told him we weren’t interested, and I was getting annoyed. He was saved from my wrath cos he got distracted by another old friend of ours, and he stumbled away.

The second band, I couldn’t get into. The frontman was trying so hard to be a funny, cool rockstar, and the music wasn’t my bag, so I concentrated on drinking. More rounds of drinks, rounds and round and round, more cigarettes. Then Republicans on Welfare. They were great, reminiscent of all my old favorite Kenocore bands but not totally derivative. Good, raging hardcore with a side of garage-y punk. I danced up front for most of their set, and the pit (such as it was, there were too few people for it to truly be a pit) was mostly made up of girls. A couple dudes bounced in and out, but most of the time it was us girls slamming, skanking, pogoing.  I’d run to where Beagan sat, have a sip of my drink, run back up, dance, fist in the air. I picked up the words to choruses on the fly and shouted along. Toward the end of their set, they did a blistering cover of “Blank Generation” and then I really shouted along. I love anytime a band covers that song; it was written, what, like 40 years ago and is forever the perfect anthem for anyone disaffected. I was sayin’ “let me outta here” before I was even born… It’s such a gamble when you get a face. Everything was great, the gals in the pit were so welcoming, though none of them knew me. “I love your jacket,” they said, or, “your hair kicks ass,” and we threw our arms around each other and did high-kicks like some kind of punk rock chorus line. But then, this one girl who’d been standing in the back came up near the stage to take some pictures, and she started giving me death glares. She looked at me like she thought I was trying to get with one of the band members, like she thought I had my eye on the same fella she did. I wanted to reassure her that wasn’t the case, that I was there to sing, to slam, to sweat the winter blues away. I wanted to say: “Honey, we can both do so much better than any of these boys. Let’s forget them, join forces, and smash the patriarchy.” I couldn’t shout all that over the noise from the PA, so I smiled at her, hoping that would convey my message, but that made her glare harder. It bummed me out, so, for the last couple songs of the Repubs’ set, I returned to Beagan and my booze.

When the music ended, we stayed on a while longer, drank more, stood outside smoking more cigarettes. I was drunk enough by that point that the biting wind didn’t faze me at all. I talked with this cute punk kid (mussed-up hair, striped shirt, Army-issue jacket covered in patches). He flirted with me, all: “I haven’t seen you around here before.” “Well,” I said, “I’ve never been to this bar before, but I’ve been coming to punk shows in Kenosha since 1998.” He said: “Uh, I wasn’t going to punk shows back then. I was eight.” We talked about music; I scoped the patches on his jacket and nodded at the bands I know and like. I was curious about his backpatch: “Who’s that one for?” -“Mouth Sewn Shut.” I didn’t know who that was, he told me it was the singer from Toxic Narcotic, I got stoked cos I used to love Toxic Narcotic and I didn’t even know he had a more recent band. We talked about where we were from, where we’d lived. I said I was born in Lansing, Michigan, and he said: “Oh, the Crucifucks are from Lansing. Did you ever see them back then?” -“Dude, how old do you think I am? I know I’m older than you are, but fuck. The Crucifucks broke up when I was, like, six!” He blushed and said: “I didn’t mean you were old, I’m sorry, I just, I didn’t know when they broke up, I wasn’t thinking about that!” I told him it was cool, I knew he didn’t mean anything by it.

Beagan and I went back to her apartment, stayed up until four a.m. drinking and talking. Five hours of fitful sleep later, I found my way back north. A week or so before, I’d been feeling bleak about where I was living, that old feeling that comes on when I’m unhappy with my life, like Maybe life would be better elsewhere. Maybe I should move back to a bigger city, or leave the midwest for good. What’s that one pop punk song about hating your hometown but knowing you’ll never escape it? That’s how I’d felt a week before. But that Saturday morning, driving up Highway 32, on the icy roads, along the frozen lake, I felt a deep and abiding love for southeastern Wisconsin. I thought about Highway 32, that road I’ve spent more of my time on than any other road in the world, and how I want a stick&poke tattoo of the highway sign, and how I’d like to write a whole mini-zine about that road. I thought about Kenocore, and how I’ve been thinking of writing a zine-book about the history of Kenocore for over a decade now. I thought about a conversation Beagan and I’d had the night before. We were talking about someone we knew from Kenosha who moved to Chicago several years ago and now says he’s from Chicago, as though all his years in southeastern Wisconsin never happened. “Why be ashamed of where you come from?” she asked. “I agree,” I said. “Besides, it’s more impressive when someone from a little town or mid-sized city like Racine or Kenosha does something cool. Why pretend you’re from Chicago? There are a million cool people in Chicago, but not so many in Kenosha.” I thought about the previous night’s show, and how, to paraphrase World/Inferno, the kids do still sing and dance, drink and fuck, smash it up. It’s my homeland.

—Jessie Lynn McMains, originally appeared in Reckless Chants #21 (autumn 2014), in slightly different form

This past Thursday night was a real hardcore punk rock show with knocked out teeth while raging against those oppressive beeyatches that act like they’re the victims plus the music was a hot mess that only real hardcore punx like. The wonderfully talented Michelle Shocked whom I’ve haven’t encountered since the rock against Reagan days in the 80s was there 🥳 And going to shows whether watching bands or playing during X-Mas time is always a blast. - Paul #ReaganYouth #NYHC #HardcorePunk #PunkRock #MichelleShocked #ReaganYouthReformationYears (at TV Eye NYC) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmkZtwEJgTJ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

365 Days of Sprix Records Swoon Records #182 Popcorn Brain by Fabulous Downey Brothers I twitch and fidget like a maniac I'm tents and nerve us and I can't real axe I get my update hot of the wire don't touch me I'm a real wi-fier I know it's just none chemical addiction but don't unplug me I'm fit for a conniption can't quiet all the chit and chatter and who can think with all the grey matter feel the pleasure center it's humming got a steady drip of dopamine Digerati's got my pulse pumping I'm tapped in and got the latest feeds check it out now starting up a flame war capillaries bouncing off my skull did you hear it? what you think about that? stuffed with cookies never getting full my brain's popping in all directions no stopping of this connection teeth cringing and my eyes strain and I can't stop I got the popcorn brain It makes me agitated this real time world of waiting no use to contemplate it I'd rather fabricate a world of constant gratification a steady stream of stimulation intravenous with the information and never ending virtual vacation when is down time? when is stillness? from ~ • •, released June 6, 2015 written by Sean Downey and Chandra Farnsworth recorded and mixed by Sean Downey and  Louis Messina mastered by Jeff Southard Live performance links below Visualizer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pg9PAS1b9JA Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/track/2okDMKH0XMRTL2emvFb247?si=39a83404750b4919 YouTube Track: https://youtu.be/1n4od6IUtq8 BandCamp: https://fabulousdowneybrothers.bandcamp.com/track/popcorn-brain Live in Chico, CA 2012: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_L1LjsLqCA Saturday, August 25, 2012 At Monstros Pizza in Chico, California. A Chico Area Pyrate Punx gig! Live at the Oddball Bash 2012: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17n90Brc4LU