If punk rock is a church, it will be a Black Church. And if punk rock is a Black Church, it has already burnt down. I can still taste its ashes in my throat. Everywhere, sweat. Everywhere, blood. And of course, what is more holy than the crucifixion, or the moshpit or a slaughterhouse? It’s as if those flailing bodies just caught the Holy Ghost but those bodies were white. Those limbs never pulled out tambourines from their purses; I imagine them reaching for guns at the end of every chorus. They never raised their hands up in surrender or in fear, instead, those hands threw punches. They caught the spirit and then kicked it right in the ribs again and again and again and still demanded encores. If punk rock is a church, don't forget how sacred it is. Continue reading
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