Pre- Election Notes

Walking past my bulletin board the other day, I noticed something that has been there for a few years and stopped to read -- it reminded me of the steady crescendo that has been the buildup to this election. If all the noise could be confined and put into words, it might sound like this:

They come by night, cruising in their uniforms and their dances down the damp city streets, swinging along like mad weekend lovers to the stereo sound of liberation. They come as witnesses, spectators and participators, crazy, wild and drunk on love and noise. The speakers explode and we are blinded by a wall of sounds, screams, beats. The movement flows through the room as the band is on fire, flying across the stage, naive, beautiful, yet serious and scarred. Skinny, feminine looking singer touches his lips in a signal and gesture of communication and revolt. Wisdom flows like water, and the new name, this new beginning, is like the bullet that killed Kennedy: relentless and hard. 2000 years of convention all gone up in smoke with the stroke of the burning guitar that Kristofer gently holds, caressing it like it's his baby, cause tonight it is. The beat hypnotizes as the heat is felt throught the room and we all take part in knowing that revolution never felt more alive. David looks out over the stage and with a twist of a stick he takes us into places we never even thought existed where we believe and know for real this is the time to live, enjoy, steal a kiss and eagerly join in. Get down, they scream and we all get down. We all get with it and we take the plunge cause it feels good. And when Jon(lead singer), heavenly looking, stares into our eyes we know that nothing is wrong, that we will walk on water and look at each other in amazement. It's a night of magic and every note hits like a hammer. The smell of perspirationand perfume is flowing through the air as we hold each other tight, moving along to the manifesto. This could be the shape of punk to come, liberation theology in practice, togetherness spiting the dividers and rulers, the sum of our parts forming the gag in the mouth that voices the status quo, woven into fabric with every last thread of our determination, sewn to fit like the shirt on my back... Or it could be just another sleepless midnight punk romance.

From a noisy and unconventional (but good) punk band called Refused