ode to the pistols

in year 8, i was suddenly, inexplicably infatuated with the sex pistols. i had graduated on from pop-punk like blink 182 and green day, and downloaded a few of their songs, instantly falling in love. while my friends started listening to simple plan and something corporate, i blasted anarchy in the uk and the dead kennedy's i fought the law (and i won) every morning on the way to school.

something in the sex pistols' music, and punk music as a wider genre, moved me, as much as a privileged private schoolgirl could relate to a bunch of working class british yobs. something in johnny rotten's maniacal laugh was exciting and rebellious, in a time when i started skipping maths classes, ringing my eyes with black kohl every day and putting safety pins in every item of clothing i owned because it was ~so punk rock~. i got a white t-shirt and wrote "i wanna be anarchy" in black permanent marker over the front; i drew the anarchy symbol all over my pencilcase with white-out; i got an electric guitar and turned up the distortion as far as it would go.

at some point in my life - and i can't pinpoint where because i think it was a subtle change over a long period of time - i started being more sad than angry. i replaced the sex pistols with the smiths, and the clash with the cure. but there is still part of me that is bitter and angry at something intangible, that wants to tear up all my clothing and pin it back together again, that wants to start a band without caring how rubbish we would sound. and "no future" still rings a little too true.

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