My people know who they are.
So this punk in line in the bank was OG.
He was spiked mohawk, torn jean vest,
military boots, and all of that jazz.
He was a punk and I don’t think there
was anyone who could tell him otherwise.
Then there was this one punk on central.
More with the times was this punk.
That is if the 80’s and 90’s is
all the more recent than the 70’s,
and if one considers this man a punk;
his moped was bumper stickered with
“Pixies suck”, All, and Descendants;
and the name of his band, or his friend’s.
I was like, fucking love all and descendants.
When I saw it. I was like fuck yeah.
I’m not a punk.
But like, that guy is not either I don’t think.
Because if I was a punk, as in,
I identified with a sub culture,
it would not be in my mojo to sport stickers at all,
I don’t think.
If I were a punk I think, shit, I’d be dirty.
Who knows because a lot of things might have to change
for me to be a punk; my sensibility might be different.
The impasse as I see it
to myself and becoming a fucking punk is
I can’t sign on with all that vehemence,
although I’m into the agst.
Speaking as a rule of thumb. Punk Music that is.
As far as what I see I wouldn’t draw attention to myself as
overtly as old school punks seem to do. Appearance-wise.
Not to mention I have no sincere interest in doing this.
Sometimes I wonder do they really exist.
I know they exist obviously but still punks are like these
mythical figures, almost.
I don’t run into them, in my regular doings.
I sometimes see punks in public
when they’re as obvious as the guy in the bank.
And I enjoy some things they spread, such as music.
Maybe I pass by punks more often than I think, and just
don’t even know it. Damn. Who knows.