The First Mistake Of Art Is To

(punk Rock Is) Lunging After Some Glimpse Of A New And Better World.

The Extravagant And Ostentatious Lifestyles That Pass For Charisma In A Time When Almost Anybody Talks About Charisma But If You Think About It There's Precious Little To Be Seen.

Realizing That Life Is Precious The Natural Tendency Is To Trample On It, Like Laughing At A Funeral.

Look At It This Way: There Are Many Here Among Us For Whom The Life Force Is Best Represented By The Livid Twitching Of One Tortured Nerve, Or Even A Full-scale Anxiety Attack. I Do Not Subscribe To This Point Of View 100 Percent, But I Understand It, Have Lived It. Thus The Shriek, The Caterwaul, The Chainsaw Gnarlgnashing, The Yowl And The Whizz That Decapitates May Be Reheard By The Adventurous Or Emotionally Damaged As Mellifluous Bursts Of Unarguable Affirmation.

They Wouldn't Be Heroes If They Were Infallible, In Fact They Wouldn't Be Heroes If They Weren't Miserable Wretched Dogs, The Pariahs Of The Earth, Besides Which The Only Reason To Build Up An Idol Is To Tear It Down Again.