| | You've stolen the one thing I had left that was worth it. the one thing
I'd fight for, the thing I fought so hard in the first place to get.
you bitch. I'm fueled by rage, how does that compare with you being fueled by ramen? (I'll give you a clue, you'll never match it)
had a spark of affection for you , you know that? in that dapper suit,
that gentlemen's waistcoat, but fucker, this is enough. I've woken up
worked up.
(Black Rebel Motorcycle Club,
I owe you an apology. I should never have strayed from your bass lines
and angry drums and real words. I should have stayed wrapped up in
howl. but I'm back now, back with my slutty strut of glitter rock
promise that you taught me. back with that glint in my eyes and sneer
on my face that is rock and roll the way it was meant to be. BRMC, I
can't thank you enough. Three albums that saved my life.)
So this morning when Six Barrel Shotgun threw me out of bed and slapped
me across the face, I realised that this has gone far enough. and then
there was your pouting face on the floor next to me, a facsimile copy
of
NME and I'm really not a morning person, as proven by the way that I
scrunched it up in a fist and ripped the paper copy of you into pieces,
hoping for a voodoo effect. which didn't happen so I chucked a major
tantrum and decided to go back to bed, but by that time, Rise Or Fall
was busy reminding me of how you have to get back up, you have to take
them on, you have to hit them just as hard, if not harder than they hit
you.(back against the wall, you knew that you had a polarising effect
on
people, but seriously, this is out of control.)so I got up, I got
dressed, went through the motions. put my foot
through your cd and I didn't even flinch as it left a shallow cut on my
foot. shallow, just like the content. I like destruction. because
you're a thief and I don't like thieves (even if I am the best damn
thief) and you've taken all I had left. today I'm gonna take it
back. as I'm making my way to you, I'm thinking about the reactions you
provoked from me. the way I thought that you were desperate, the way I
knew, instantly, that you and I had something in common when it came to
pretentiousness. the way i instantly liked your piano and thought maybe
you could save music, but it wasn't until you minced up that music
needed saving.
you don't owe them nothing
whisper BRMC, and I have to hold that thought, hold it tight in case
you decide to steal that from me too. as I'm letting the anger boil
beneath my skin, I let my left hand bunch into a tight little fist, as
my right hand caresses scars that I'm going to blame on you, because I
never did that stupid shit of looking at my insides until I crashed
into you.
I know what you're gonna say to me when I confront you and accuse you.
you'll quote "boys will be boys" at me and I'll have to make sure not
to lash out. this isn't going to be won by fists. (this is going to be
won by me.) I'll drag you kicking and screaming, away from the
spotlight you love so much, just to tell you that I know what you've
done.
you've stolen my rock and roll.
bastard. you've stolen my rock and roll, and all I've got left
is an echo of BRMC in my ears telling me that I gotta save them, I
gotta save the world that I used to love to destroy.
See, the thing about BRMC that makes them worthwhile, is that they
never ever objectified anyone, (except maybe themselves) whereas you,
you've got it in for every single girl in the world. you've somehow
(you'll claim subconsciously) decided to unravel the wars that women
fought for equality and independence. and you do it in under three
minutes too.
and you do it using my rock and roll that I bled for.
I think you boys are pretty damn close to rapists. Because you're
objectifying me, well, that's a little self centered. You're
objectifying women, and I think you're probably objectifying yourselves
in order to justify anything that happen - I can hear it now "she was
asking for it, officer!!" don't you get it, just because a girl doesn't
want you doesn't make her a whore.
I don't think you have any idea about the power you wield? You're not
much older than me and you're already effecting change and you seem to
just want to use it for sexual gratification. There's more to life than
sex. You're paying the stereotype so beautifully with your raging
hormones. There's so much more power to be had.
You're telling me that
you're better than that, you're telling me that you're burning up for
us, as we watch you. I'm not watching you with anything except anger in
my eyes. And disbelief. This is so backward. You even dress like its
two centuries past. Why not throw me a damn corset while you're at it?
I feel violated, listening to you, yeah violated, like you're tying me
up and fucking me dry in revenge for all your troubles. I'm probably
the only one desperate enough to feel this way, but you stole my rock
and roll, so I feel I'm allowed to react any damn way I choose.
Did you know, I used to find you quite cute and attractive? Thought you
were talented even. I had a moment of madness, rock and roll style in
which I wanted you, didn't care what anyone thought. Wrote you a few
letters. Reading them again now, I realise I didn't want you, I didn't
care what you looked like.
I just wanted to rip you to shreds. Maybe it was jealousy, but I think it was rage, pure rock and roll rage.
Pure rock and roll rage, because I knew then, subconsciously (what would
we do without a subconscious) that you'd stolen my rock and roll. There
was a moment, that you only get from hearing the tortured screams
of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club as they ask, WHATEVER HAPPENED TO MY
ROCK AND ROLL? and today, I screamed back, I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO MY
ROCK AND ROLL, SOME FUCKERS IN CHEAP SUITS STOLE IT FROM ME
Yeah, you stole my rock and roll, whored it out in disco beats and now, now I want it back.
And I don't care what I have to do to get it back.
Because when you're like me (not that you ever will be) and have rock
and roll tattooed to your genome, ingrained in your skin, when rock
and roll is such a part of you, well, it makes me so fucking angry that
some tawdry boy has stolen it and is abusing is, that I don't care what
I have to do to get it back.
your back against the wall. you're nearly a foot and a half taller than me, but you're shaking.
I want my rock and roll back, bitch.
--
ten points if you can guess who.
twenty points if you tell me who.
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| | Posted 7/14/2006 6:37 PM - 13 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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