I’m not gonna lie. Punk is all about speed and the dizziness in the brain. Cause I’m one of those arm chair freaks who probably overestimate the importance of brain I don’t do drugs that fast me up. Cause I’m a big coward that’s why. I usually get so drunk that I throw up into my own mouth and have to run around in strange apartments to find the toilet just to get rid of the vomit among my wonderfully white teeth. I’m capable of this. That’s how self-conscious I am. Maybe I could handle speed if I wanna rush. No wait. I totally could. I’m not doing lsd because I’m afraid. I don’t do speed cause it doesn’t interest me that much. Cause who the fuck wanna rush at nights, the only specific part of the day when I could get speed for free? I enjoy the total victorious feeling of being awake even after how much I’ve drunk and how long I’m still up. Also when I went to high school I loved to come home exhausted and just fell half asleep with midday talk shows on and have the televised reality and my half conscious mind react and sometimes I was speaking with the guests on the shows.
But really if I wanted pace I would like it around the most useless hours like 3 pm to 4 pm. When everything is just there to let me down because there’re only things i can be sorry for. With the pale lights of the day and people connecting to life so much different than I do. Today I scanned old photos of my family. My favorites were the ones which had my far far none blood related whomever who is schizophrenic because she listened to a religious radio station too much. There’s just something really interesting in her expressionless face. Then I drank coffee and went to buy a bottle of wine for my father’s upcoming birthday which is the exactly same day as Hitler’s death day, listening to Sonic Youth and the Nerves in new shoes what I found heavy and finally just in a t-shirt that’s how warm the air was. Caffeine overdose is like a flower. With sun-beams and good circumstances like middle era Sonic Youth the material in my blood opens up in my head as the most magical feeling. This is not about drinking materials. It’s about fast paced thoughts with slow motion walking in the sun and listening to amazing guitar outruns. Or homeruns or whatever that translates the sound’s vibration which is shockingly similar to a heart’s race after running a marathon. I’ve spent this afternoon with failing to fix a mix tape for a party I’d like to but will not attended. Still I imagined the soundtrack in the background of drunk kitchen conversations of european contact exchanging and great songs. None of us is doomed enough for something interesting to happen with us. But that’s alright. Somehow punk will destroy our weak bodies. I’m not punk because I always was and am weak. I became weak cause I didn’t give a shit about my body image and found sitting around and hanging more fun than running around. So music will destroy me. The caffeine I toke to make Wipers more effective and the headphones what makes everything sound better. The weight that my ears have to bear and my brain what shrinks so the sounds can have enough space. Ok it’s not true or I hope it’s not and this wasn’t my ironic and fatal sentence. Fuck I just have so many great images and activities and people and places which I could connect with or through music and because I’m writing this it’s obvious that I feel the need to get things out of my head while the things inside my head are the best things ever because they are all mine and I’m not ashamed of my thoughts. Sometimes it feels that what I need is not writing it out but to collect them into one place. That’s why I need the speed to have them all at the same exact time. Like now i’m a bit overdosed myself with it. I mean them. Caffeine and my adored thoughts. The need to put something cool into this empty world. So now i’m feeling like i’m right in that world where Flipper records are relevant. It’s so claustrophobic cause i’m surrounded with fuzziness and everything is just flashing around in my head, i really have to focus even on a such simple thing as pissing right into the toilet. Right. I’d like to call all my friends, have them here where we eat cold spaghetti and warm ice cream and watch apocalypse now redux version while spinning records above it. Selecting music for the scenes because we all know what they on the screen say, think and hallucinate. We’d roll around the floor shirtless not wanting the earth to open. Or have a dance party to Rudimentary Peni. Stole skateboards from the cheap pot dealer who lives on the third floor. And have night sessions with a boom box blasting Wire. I sucked in skating and after I broke my hand into two pieces I gave it up and went too far with punk. Still I have dreams with riding. It’s almost as cool when I dream with girls who I love. Sometimes I just imagine things while awake.
I love my neighborhood. It always reminds me to raise the question what were my parents thinking. They delivered me into the last three years of the soviet union. And they had no idea it will ever end. Furthermore they lived in deep poorness. And when i was around 5 or 4 we got here where I live now. The national and practically only tv channel had a daily soap opera that was filmed here. And we got here. Kinda amazing. Cause in every second episode there were youngsters in leatherjackets trying to beat up everyone, rob old people, rape young ladies. Mafia wanted to take over all the tiny grocery stores in every corner and everyone was ordering or buying cognac in every 5 minutes. Of course there was this guy from the orphanage working the shittiest jobs, who always stepped in and saved whoever needed it. Then he drank some cognac. The irony is that one of the things i’ve learnt to work is his job. But it’s not that important. What raises the question in me is my parents saw every day what this neighborhood is like. Full of violence, rookies in capitalism, drug dealers, nazis, catholic priests, house policy obsessed stuck up sons of bitches. Still we got here and i have to say it’s not just one of the safest places in such a safe town but most of the times it just seems dead to me. And i fucking love it. Walking all alone at nights being amazed by no one is around is just so perfect for an outsider like i’m. Basically I could be that evil guy who needs to be beaten up cause I might not have a leatherjacket on the outside but I constantly wear it everyday inside. And of course I wanna steal things from every grocery store and make sweet love to all the ladies. But you see I don’t have time for these cause I’m too busy walking around and pretending that I’m from another planet staring on everything like they are new to me. Nowadays i like to dress up for these brief walks as an inbreed son of a happy family incest. It gives me the false feeling of freedom. Also i could buddy up with the guys who dress the same but not as a joke or conscious choice just out from their nature. It means i’m backed up by an army of schizophrenics. Like it would be needed. Cause my neighborhood has no one around after 8 pm. And everything fits when I’m out all alone in this world. Yeah I see lights burning in some flats but it doesn’t mean anything. It never does.