Friday, May 4, 2012

It's been a few weeks since I last put finger to key. That's not to say that nothing has been going on - on the contrary, I have been busier than Jello Biafra at an anti-censorship fundraiser. I won't bore you with the details: nobody really cares and furthermore, I don't either. Let's just accept that I have been up to something, something rotten and nefarious, you can be sure, that has taken me away from you, dear reader, some Promethean endeavor, sure to end in misery and violence, like a Russian wedding.

Last we left our protagonist, the young and ever-flawed Jinx, he had sold his comic books for food money, literally trading his youthful hope for deep-fried reality, cutting off the infected limb to save the body, no matter that the limb looked full of life, gleaming, vibrant, even.

See, the thing is, he knew, deep in the hypothalamus, he saw the end of hardcore, the end of the line for the Punks, the screaming, violent descent into the gaping maw of commercialism and avarice, all those rebellions terminated in the second trimester, aborted for grad school and construction jobs. He could see the end ever nearer, face front you got the future, shining like a piece of gold, but I swear as we get closer, it looks more like a lump of coal, ah, Strummer, it even ended for you, long before you shuffled off to the great blackness.

Jinx had to live it, see it through to the inevitable sad conclusion, a Stanley Kubrick marathon film, knowing the ending doesn't make it any less compelling, driving straight into the storefront, in past the nervous mannequins, over the under-paid clerk, smashing through the 50% off racks, you know there is a wall somewhere just the other side of women's apparel, an immovable reality, this is going to hurt, a lot, fuck it, the squares all say one foot on the brake pedal, I had the fucker removed, it's a one-way trip, always has been, c'mon you fuckers, you're all going with me.

But enough of that morose shit. The point, the fucking POINT, man, is that he was there, you can't take that from him, you can make shit up about where you were, but he fucking knows, he rode that swerving wreck to the end, and he enjoyed knowing that nothing but an abrupt and rude stop waited for him, deadly in every way except psychically. It was the catharsis of the free-thinking youth of the era, the bringers of fire, tied to a rock is better than never having seen the fucking sun.

I think we will hear more about Jinx over the next few installments. Hell, even I have a little of that tragic embrace left in me, I know it burned me once, but I will be the first in line for the zinc oxide. Let's just see what happens, shall we? I think it best to see it on the big screen even on it's second run. Maybe it will turn out differently.....

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