In a study of the people here, I find that they are congenial (and quite wasted) punks, one of which I find myself to be, and I am quite happy with it, although happiness is not a very good word if you wish to use it to describe the people here. There are probably a lot of suppressed dreams and a great need for some form of escape. We are not lost people. Day by day, we live. What tomorrow will bring is an unasked question. We are the people who can change the world. Or we can get fucked up and talk about it the next day. I have dreams. But I like this life for now. But no one should let themselves forget. Everyone here is the owner of twisted principals, but it somehow seems to work.
We can sing about how fucked up the world is. Or we can change it. We can ignore the system. Or we can make waves. Hypocrisy and corruption will always exist. The government is fucked without a doubt. But you can't wait for the next guy to prevent annihilation. If you can't do it, then fuck it, waste your life. Everything lives on without you.
There's a great power in youth. If you're aware of that, then you can do something more than sit on your ass and say the world is fucked.
Call me a fucking idealist, but sometime I'll get out of this fucking life. I'm always one of the survivors. I am youth, and I will not stand still, thank you.
What is rebellion? Does anyone know?
They are very nice fuck-ups here...
The world is full of people who've been through a lot of shit, so don't put me down if I'm leading a generally happy life, because a lot of people don't get it that good. I don't ever want to grow cold. I care about these fucking strangers in my life. And yet none of them are strangers. If you think you know me, then you do.
[I wonder - do grade school witches become punks when adolescent dreams fall through?]
Break into a cold sweat and think of dreams long forgotten... Try not to be sick. Don't move. The feeling will go away. Everything will be clear in the morning, if I make it to the next day. I stand still on a spinning world. The darkness modifies the light. And all I see has been seen and said before. A living metaphor of a dying lifestyle...
Sorry reader. You probably don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. It is too late to worry if I am a burden in this so-called household. I am here now, and I will stay. It is too late. St. Patty's day is over. No more green beer. The drugs are wearing off. In light of the fact that this is a public report, I shall not go in depth into my impression of each of the people here. Besides that, I probably have no right. They deserve my respect. I don't know how they are with respect. If they take it well and such. But they've got it.
- March 17, 1984
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