Home > observations and ramblings > ho hetch etu aloh

ho hetch etu aloh

Sometimes I wonder why we can’t wear shorts everywhere. Shorts and slippers. Ingrown toenails make it a bitch to wear shoes. Why can’t I fall asleep on the LRT with my hairy legs and ugly toes for all to see? Why don’t I? Who cares what I wear, anyway? Are the fashion police out and about these days? I bet Doom would write a whole new song for them, and all the punks would memorize that song as well. At nearly every punk gig around the world a band will cover that song, and the kids will sing, shout and scream along. Drummers all over the world will dread it when their bandmates go “Hey, there’s this Doom song we want to cover . . .”

One of my friends has a pink DS. I see her playing it sometimes at college. I wonder if she’s playing Sprung. I don’t think I have it in me to fire three bullets in her head. But I might just have to. For the good of humanity. Zombies only really die from headshots. Or head-crushing suplexes. But I’m not Leon. I don’t have the hair, the good looks, the body or the fighting skills.

There’s someone aside from myself that I can’t put out of my mind these days. Is this a blessing or a curse? Is this a good thing or a bad thing? Do I feel good about this? What is this? I’m waiting for something. I don’t know what it actually is. But then the question has to be asked: who’s the one waiting exactly? I suddenly realise how much I would like to be able to read someone’s mind. At least this once. Shall I hope? Shall I do something? Shall I be pessimistic? Kill all hope? It’s not wrong to hope, is it? No, I don’t think it is. Perhaps I’m setting myself up for another fall. I’ll take the risk.

I watch the numbers on the digital clock change from 3:59 to 4:00 again tonight and I have a headache. Sleep is perhaps the answer but sleep is exactly what I’m not doing. Not only sleep, but a slow repaying of my debts, a slow re-adjustment towards the norm. In bed at 12 and out of bed by 8 or 9. But is that what I’m going to do? Hell no. Perhaps I shall live to regret this. But then perhaps not.

If you have never had loud music assaulting your eardrums, never had sweaty bodies all around you, t-shirts soaked to the bone, never gotten a boot to your head, a crowd-surfer’s buttocks in your face, if you’ve never found yourself in a living, breathing organism made out of human bodies moving frantically to the music—left, right, front back—with fists flying and arms raised, shouting and screaming out heartbroken words to heart-breaking songs, if you have never experienced that then you have never lived, my friends.

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