ZID VI CHAPTER TRES: DIA-TRIBE and PREJUDICE

[The Urbane Spaceman]

So, we flew off in the black hearse.

Thank goodness that Joey could finally drive, but Sean would always end up being the Chauffeur.

He had the mental fortitude to focus on a task when the rest of us were lost in frivolity, or anger, or passionate anger, but never angry passion. We didn't work like that.



Side note, I tell you that it takes a long time to get to the end of the tale for one reason, which is this:

A good story teller will not simply tell you: A happened, then we went to B, and then we ended up at C.


Oh no. Not that. Give us some color. Give us something to paint with, on our imagination’s canvas. Throw me a few hues on my palette, instead of white gesso and black text. Let us know something about you in your telling of your tale.




So we showed up at that party. Folks didn’t like us. We had to make friends. Jerry whipped out his coke and everyone got happy. We all got fucked up. Then other people showed up and shit got nasty. That was when the house got wrecked.




Calls for a drink. Will you have a nip of a sip with me?



3… 2… 1… Siiiiiiiip/ slurp/ gulp/ chug… wait. Savor your Ethyl-Alcohol-Ethanol, or, as I like to call her, Lovely Miss Ethyl.


Mmmmm. She has a lovely bouquet of butter and sweet. She is a vodka made from a Cold River. She’s quite sippable.



You ready? Jeez, about time.





I kid.


Take your time all you like.

A Tenet of this MDM forum site, (thank you FKR) is that our pursuit is not a race to the finish line. But it’s not a long, arduous marathon either. It is a slow waltz with a shexxy lady and her pretty lady friends.


It is a personal buffet of many tastes and flavors and licks. We can enjoy the ride, not simply guzzle in a cheap, smelly taxicab on the way toward the cliff.


(But, truly, that can be some fun as well. Oh hells yes.)







We walked into that place and boy did we feel the sudden hatred.


This was how those Jocks viewed us punk rockers.


It was wrong simply because it is not true Punk. Most certainly, our appearance was alien to them, and when anything so is alien, then people will tend to group it all together into a safe container and attempt to remove it or destroy it or bury it.

It was more like enjoying Glenn Branca without trying to understand. Folks waited for the actual song to begin, and they missed the point that the train had left the station without them.




Hell, this wasn’t meant to be a punk rock lesson. Let’s go with Iggy because he always brought the party.



The idea here is that when we showed up, nothing made sense to them Jocks.

What happens when people encounter a new infiltration into their safety zone is that they act to protect themselves.



Fear causes anger in many cases.



It appeared that we would have to be the ones to build bridges, instead of destroy them.



That there, you know, is antipodal to the anarchy of Punkology.


Man, we had some work to do.


But never, ever make apologies for your beliefs, nor your appearance. Fuck Prejudice, which is a Latin word for “Pre-Judging” and all the weight it carries. Some folks want to share their ugly load. Never accept it. They can have they own mental baggage all they like. Bury it in the back yard and grow an angry tree for your kids, if you like.


My own two cents: Punk started as a revolt against mental pre-conceptions. Freedom is pure, not constrained by fences. We construct walls for protection, and then we find ourselves contained in a mental prison.



Man, now this bottle is judging me. I will have to free it to escape.




Huh. See you next time, for some interesting times. Quite messy, really.

/DIA-TRIBE




DRINK!



.


.

[mistah willies]

Blah Blah blah TL;DR

So where's the next part? Kinda slacking there dude