| P.R.(PUNK ROCK) Aging Having taken a large amount of comments in regards to the first two issues of Propaganda, I must have some reply. I feel that it is important to address my criticism in a manner which will not only allow for a more balanced publication, but also will retain the initial vision of the magazine. Hence, a new column has now shoved its way through the birth canal of creativity. Of the many statements made, and e-mails received, it is the prodding of a friend who has inspired and given me great pride in our friendship over the years. Bootsy, Scrilla, and the many other names of my PUNK ROCK/j-town brother, emulate his past being which is, and shall remain, always the soul of this new, and bold piece to be included monthly. Beyond that, there is little I can say. To be entirely honest, I have no clue what the hell I am suppose to be writing about. So in the tradition of PUNK ROCK, I�m gonna make it up as I go along. To sum up the attitude of PUNK ROCK, it is honesty and passion, self expression and contempt for the main stream, opposition to the establishment with no real direction, just pure and simple life with its exposed flesh and raw nerves. So let us begin this treaties. About a month ago whilst I was riding high on the success (lack of) of the first issue of Propaganda, and celebrating the holy days of my beloved revolution, a voice barked out at me from flaming bottle of spiced rum. This of course, after hours of gnawing, gulping and guzzling; oh, and lest I forget, drunken carpet WWF battle royale. This harsh voice said to me: � Opposition. An essay on the meaning of life. Not just yours jackass, but of those you also share, and how life truly is for those who have had to pass the torch.� At first it excited me, the very idea of being able to let go of the present and recall the past fondly. Because, when real life sets in, you see the big joke of stylistic Darwinism. Then I became somewhat confused as how to proceed. As the voices always do, they give you this great idea but no instructions. So again the voices have returned (god I hope Henry Rollins isn�t one of them), and I set foot along with you, my literary companions, down the path of winding turns, dead ends, drop offs� and yellow brick roads. P.R. aging is a lot of things. It is the cracking of a stone once its magic is gone. It is working a job that you don�t want to, because it is the ( not yours but your girlfriend�s) best decision you can make. It is having to go to a bar to watch your favorite T.V. show, because one of your dumbass roommates spent the cable bill money on some ass. It is buying a car that not only is fuel efficient but baby and wallet friendly. It is trying to squeeze two or three hours into a week, in which you can get rowdy with the quality people you used to work, reside, and be stupid with ( which was all pretty much one activity anyway). It is when your girlfriend gets mad because you would rather spend your time with your hop head friends doing what hop heads do. The list goes on and on, but ultimately it means death has now set in and will eventually come calling. Hell, I was given this idea, and I�ve done the best I could for this time. So, guess it�s live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse. Unfortunately, none of this scenario seems to be accurate any longer. back to table of contents |