punk rock anyone

Changed my URL

Hey everyone! I’ve changed my URL from @for-those-liberal-woman to @feminism-for-change. I realized my old URL was a really bad representation of what this blog is about, and I wanted it to actually fit the things I stand for. Just wanted to let you guys know. 

@feminismandmedia @informative-feminist @were-all-queer-here @a-spec-safespace @sleepy-hylian @punk-rock-pidgey

If you think anyone else should know feel free to tag them

I Wasn’t Brought Here, I Was Born: Surviving Punk Rock Long Enough To Find Afropunk

What we’re sold about punk rock is that anyone can pick up an instrument and go, something that we’ve been proven time and time again by a wide number of awful bands. But even in a genre that prides itself on simplicity, the complexities of erasure and invisibility in punk rock go deep. It is hard to hear the word “Brotherhood” without also thinking of the weight behind what it carries with it in this country, and beyond. When I still hear and read the punk rock scene referred to as a “brotherhood”, I think about what it takes to build a brotherhood in any space. Who sits at the outskirts, or who sits at the bottom while the brotherhood dances oblivious and heavy at the top. In the punk landscape, we are often given imagery that reflects the most real truths of this scene: the exclusion of people of color, of women, of the queer community, and that exclusion being sometimes explicit, sometimes violent, but almost always in direct conflict with the idea of punk rock as a place for rebellion against (among other things) identity.

A friend recently posed a question to me, similar to one that Lester Bangs wrote about being posed to him (in 1979’s “The White Noise Supremacists”):

Well, what makes you think the attitudes of racism and exclusion in the punk scene are any different from that of the rest of the world?

The answer, of course, is that it isn’t. Or at least it is all born out of the same system. In the ‘70s, the answer was perhaps easier to digest. That punk rock, born in part out of a need for white escape, just wasn’t prepared to consider a revolution that involved color, or involved women as anything that the scene deemed useful. That, of course, also being a reflection of the time. Today, we sit back and watch seemingly evolved artists talk about tearing down these large political structures and uniting the masses, and making safe spaces for everyone who wants to come out and enjoy music, but the actual efforts to build and create these spaces fall extremely short, as evidenced (in one example) by Jake McElfresh, who has a now admitted history of preying on underage girls, being allowed to play Warped Tour. A touring music showcase catering to, mostly, teenagers.

It is a luxury to romanticize blood, especially your own. It is a luxury to be able to fetishize violence, especially the violence that you inflict upon others. To use it as a bond, or to call it church, or to build an identity around it while knowing that everyone you can send home bloody will not come back for revenge. To walk home bloody. To walk home at night. At the time of writing this, a video is circulating of a black man being killed by police, on camera. Before this, there was another black man. And a black boy. And black women vanishing in jail. And black trans women vanishing into the night. I do not blame punk rock for this. I instead ask to consider the impact of continuing to glorify a very specific type of white violence and invisibility of all others in an era where there is a very real and very violent erasure of the bodies most frequently excluded from the language, culture, and visuals of punk rock. I ask myself who it serves when I see countless images showing examples of why “punk rock is a family”, images with only white men. It does no good to point at a neighborhood of burning houses while also standing in a house on fire. It is true, in 2015, the flames in the house of punk may climb up the walls more slowly than, say, the flames in the Fox News building. But the house is still on fire. Too often, the choice in punk rock and D.I.Y. spaces for non-white men is a choice between being tokenized, or being invisible. Having experienced both, I chose the latter, and then chose to stop going to as many shows altogether. Which isn’t mentioned in sadness. To watch the casual packaging of a violence that impacts and affects bodies that look like yours, and to watch that violence knowing that you have no place in it, other than to take it in, it feels similar to being black every other place in America. [Read More]

I’m 21 tomorrow so here’s some life advice I’ve picked up over the years.

Learn to live with your reflection.

Swim to the middle of the ocean and listen to the whales.

Spend more time feeling the blank space behind your eyes.

Never listen to babies.

Stop trying to ‘get’ art.

Talk to trees.

Try to eat at least three fruits and emotions a day.

Look at the stars as often as you can but remember not to fall off.

Intoxicate yourself to whatever degree you see fit.

Laugh.

You’re never going to marry Johnny Depp or Zooey Deschanel, deal with it.

Listen to punk rock and if anyone says shit to you (Particularly if you’re a woman) pop that motherfucker in the mouth.

If you can’t afford art supplies cut off the tips of your fingers and bleed every colour.

Breathe deeply and frequently.

Learn to accept the world without an explanation.

Try to find beauty in the chaos.

I WANT TO START A FUCKING BAND! I WANNA SING IN IT! I WANT TO WRITE MEANINGFUL LYRICS! I WANT PEOPLE WITH ME WHILE WE DRIVE IN A SHITTY VAN GOING TO PLACES WHERE WE’LL PLAY! I WANT LOUD NOISE AT SHOWS AND SILENCE WHILE WE TRY TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO PLAY A CERTAIN SONG! I JUST WANT A BAND SO FUCKING MUCH!

anonymous asked:

Everytime I look at your blog you just get more punk rock and hotter. Has anyone in irl ever told you that?

No one irl has ever complimented me. The wonders of photos.