#Bad Acid Zine

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

TAKE A TAB OF THIS FOR ALL YOUR HEAVY MUSIC NEEDS -- CLASS OF '98.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on cover art to stoner/DOOM/psychedelic/sludge metal magazine/fanzine?, "Bad Acid" tab #2 (published September 1998), zine founded by David Gedge, Poole, UK. Cover Art by Erik Roper.

Source: https://archive.org/details/thewitchesbrew_images.

[fastcardotmp3]

Steve is the first person Robin ever comes out to.

And it's good, it goes better than she ever could have hoped, it goes miraculously well considering just how reckless she had been about it in hindsight, how nearly accidental and vaguely self-destructive a choice it had been to wield Tammy Thompson's name like that in front of a boy she'd learned to trust within the past six hours.

The thing is, it's good, but she realizes later on that she never actually says the word. The big one, the identifying one, the one that gets thrown around as a slur as often as queer or dyke do towards any girl who dares not present in a specifically feminine way.

It's a bad word, a scary word, a word that drips off tongues like acid and drips drips drips a corrosive hole in Robin's chest every single time because if it's being said in her vicinity that means-- just at any moment-- anyone could figure out--

Robin doesn't care for the act of coming out either in theory or in practice. She believes that anyone she trusts enough to know gets to learn from context clues and anyone she doesn't trust will just never get to know her fully and that's good enough for her.

She doesn't sit her parents down and say, "Mom. Dad. I'm a--"

She doesn't sit her little apocalypse posse down and say, "Just thought you guys should know I'm a--"

She didn't tell Steve.

She doesn't say the word.

Because as much as she's able to accept who she is, it's so hard to claim a word that has been used like a weapon her whole life. Because as much as even her parents and her friends love her for who she is, there is something about saying it like that that makes her wonder if it could sully the support.

As if they'd realize oh, you meant like that...? and change their minds.

It's not until IUPUI, a little house in Indy with Steve, and a little record shop next door to the deli where Eddie got a job slicing meat that she starts seeing that word, feeling it anew.

There are zines at this shop, the ones behind the counter that she's offered after a few visits and a few conversations that she later recognizes as coded and questioning in nature.

There are stories and art and poetry and that word is all over them.

And the thing is? The thing that has Steve finding her crying in their living room one afternoon as she reads through the stack like it holds the answers to the universe?

Is that it is written and spoken and displayed like the most beautiful word in the world.

It's a compliment and a blessing and a brag. It's a little bit of magic and a great deal of history.

It's her, in the end. It's her and it belongs in her mouth, deserves to be spoken, because too many people are out there misusing it like a disgusting thing when it is divine, fucking love incarnate.

Robin tucks into Steve's embrace, his instinct to hold her even as he tries to understand what has her sobbing in the middle of the day, whether or not he needs to fight anyone about it.

He holds her and she holds him back and it only feels right that it happen like this when she takes his face in her hands, shaky but oh, so certain.

Steve was the first person she ever came out to.

If she's going to let the scary word become her favorite the way it is for the people writing it out so proudly, this is probably the place to start.

"Steve Harrington," she beams at the furrow in his brow, those big concerned eyes that she knows will be confused about this, but she knows will only hold her tighter once she explains. "Steve. Stevie. Guess what?"

"What's up?" he laughs, gathering the joy in her tears like she knew he would, and Robin feels something click in the moment before she says it to him.

Out loud and real.

Very nearly holy.

"I'm a fucking lesbian."

[junkworldusa]

have not posted about this at all because i've become increasingly superstitious about art-making as i get older, but i'm in the process of printing a 28 page zine. everything should be ready to ship out in january, at which point i'll make an actual post. it'll also be available as a cheap pdf, and i will eventually post it on here for free. more zine thoughts under the cut

My first two zines are technically lost media at this point. The first one was called 'ACID BRASH' and was about a girl going on a date with an older man who was sexually interested in her teeth. It was 8 pages long and everyone who read it commented on how bad it made them feel. The second one was called 'Tabitha Waves' and was about a young woman who had a chance meeting with an old movie star whom she admired. It was 12 pages long and pretty toothless, which is ironic since the characters in question were both crocodiles.

I moved around too much in those days, and so did the indie comics school where I printed the zines, and neither of us were organized. But I don't regret losing the original artwork, or the files, or the zine copies themselves. They're floating around somewhere. I'm glad I made them.

My third zine was a collection of comics from this blog. Emma Jensen from SAW designed the cover and did the lay-out. She has a great eye for editing (and is also a wonderful cartoonist). After the gallery show/zine launch with other cartoonists in Gainesville I was going to sell the remaining copies online, but I realized I didn't have enough (I've got about a dozen left). You're not missing out on anything, though! No extra comics in there, just the hits.

Finally, it's my fourth zine, which I've titled Junk World #1. I'm pleased with this one. I don't think any comic I've read captures the abyss between drawing comics & printing comics like BL Metamorphosis. It's not a bad thing. It's kind of miraculous. It becomes something entirely new.

Hello to all my new followers, much love to all my old followers, and thank you for reading.

[terezis]

Last Line tag game

Rules: in a post, show the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like.)

tagged by @ceilingfan5 i will share two different ones and tag no one <3

-

(taz zine piece)

"Why's it so hard to make, though?" he asked. "Isn't it just, uh—what's it called—puff pastry?"

Lup snorted, not unkindly. She picked up a cream puff of her own, weighing it in her hand like a bag of gold, and said, "Barold, that's like askin' if Delayed Fireball is just a spell. It's all about the timing—‘specially when they’re making a fucking thousand of 'em."

-

(throwing stones aka astarion's no good very bad day)

"So, Astarion."

"Hm?" Astarion doesn't look up from his pack. Health potions, check. Arrows (fire, ice, lightning, and acid) check. Drow poison stolen from Shadowheart: check. He probably won't need the smokepowder bombs today—but better safe than sorry. What if—

"We're friends, aren't we?"

Astarion pauses, frowning. He glances up. "What? No."

This is clearly not the answer Wyll was banking on. He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

"What? We're not," Astarion says, lip curling. He shoulders his bag and stands. "None of you like me, and that's fine. I don't like any of you, either."

Karlach, already waiting by the door, whips her head back towards them. "Aw, what? C'mon, that's not true! You like me, don't you, Fangs?"

Astarion rubs at his brow. "I don't like any of you, and I tolerate Karlach," he allows.

[poptimus-prime]

Something I wrote to stretch my writing muscle out today bc I’ve been job hunting and/or bedridden all August and I have a commission and a zine piece to finish. (This work is related to neither.)

Miko walked down the aisle of drinks with wide eyes, seemingly overwhelmed by her choices. Jack followed, mostly disinterested as he waited to pick up his usual drink–a Redbull–so it wouldn’t get warm while he waited for Miko to make her selection.

“I still don’t understand how you can drink those.” Stormy signed to him, their voice stuck in the back of their throat. “They kinda taste…bad to me.”

“Yeah, well, I like the way they taste.” Jack shrugged. “I have a refined palette.”

“If by refined you mean a hankering for battery acid.” Miko stuck her tongue out. She stole a sip of his drink at one point, and immediately regretted it. She paused and her eyes widened as a can caught her attention from her peripheral–a pink one. She immediately opened the fridge and reached for it. She tilted her head, having difficulty reading the writing at the bottom due to its font spacing. “I want this one. The…Strawberry Dreams Monster?”

“I’ve had that one. It’s pretty good.” Stormy summarized while they held an Ultra Watermelon under their arm, and Jack interpreted for Miko. The girl flapped her empty hand a little, excited to taste her new treasure. Stormy smiled at her antics before turning to Raf, who had tugged on their sweater sleeve while holding his selection. Stormy had to hand it to him that he knew exactly what he wanted every single time–lemonade flavored Bug Juice and a black bag of sour gummy worms. They were convinced that if 7/11 stopped selling either, he would simply wither away.

“Can I get these?” Raf asked quietly, and Stormy nodded. They had offered to pay for Raf and Miko, and he really wasn’t asking for much. They let him hold onto their sleeve, and he trailed along behind them as they continued to make their own selection. They were having difficulty making a choice, standing in the chip aisle with their free hand on their hip. Raf shyly waved at someone else who had just come into the gas station, immediately hiding his face in Stormy’s arm.

They turned to see Jack standing next to them as he picked up Takis–the ones in the wildest shade of blue Stormy had ever seen. Jack could take spice deceptively well; he was banned from using hot peppers while cooking for the Darby household because his spice tolerance was that much higher than the rest of the family.

Stormy sighed and took a bag of cheese Chex Mix. Eventually, Miko returned to them with her drink and a bag of sour candy straws Stormy swore this gas station stopped selling, but nevertheless they would buy for her. Now that they were all ready, Stormy proceeded to the checkout, allowing Jack to go first as he was paying for himself.

The gas station attendant, having seen these kids time and again, greeted them all with familiarity. By now, he knew enough about them, he thought. Jack was the one that tried way too hard to be cool and inevitably fumbled right at the end. He knew that Stormy didn’t talk (at least, never to him) and Raf would hide behind them; Miko, however, would gladly run her mouth to him without restraint. He didn’t regret it–she was the only other person in this backwater town who enjoyed Slash Monkey.

Once they exited the gas station, they walked to the park, occasionally pausing to look into shop windows and gawk at the items for sale inside. Miko asked constant questions, and the others answered them with ease. By the time they got to the park and began tearing into their haul, it was still light out, but cooler as the afternoon turned into the evening. In the corner of the park, far away from the street, was their favorite table under a tree. It was perfectly shaded at this time of day, and provided some peace for the four of them.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that their antics end.

“These chips are so spicy, Jack, what the fuck?” Miko whined, taking another sip of her drink to try to wash the heat out of her mouth. The boy offered her one, and just like the Redbull, she regretted partaking.

Jack just laughed quietly, his fingertips and mouth an unnatural shade of blue from his snack. He had to slam his fist against the park bench to let something out, and Miko responded by flicking the back of his head.

“Shut up, Jack.” She huffed.

“I didn’t say anything, dude!” Jack replied, and the two began their lighthearted squabbling. A near daily occurrence.

Stormy and Raf watched quietly from the other side of the table, the older giving the occasional piece of pretzel to the child. He munched on it, his gummy worms long gone. The sun was setting, and Bulkhead would be there soon to pick them up.

But it was an afternoon well spent.

[spaceintruderdetector]

https://archive.org/details/thewitchesbrew_images/mode/2up

This is one out of the five printed zines by the magazine Bad Acid, a Doom Metal magazine that ran from 1998 to 2010. 

Page 1: Description/introduction of the issue

Page 2: Table Of Contents/Doom Metal-Related news

Pages 3-4: Electric Wizard Interview

Pages 5: Iron Monkey and Bongzilla Interview

Page 6: Bongzilla Interview (contd.)

Pages 7-8: ST-37 Interview

Pages 9-10: A story called “Be Careful What You Wish For”

Page 11: Solstice Interview

Page 12: Man's Ruin Records AD

Pages 13-14: Blue Cheer Retrospective/Interview with the lead singer and bassist, Dickie Peterson

Pages 15-16: Farflung Interview

Page 17: Naevus Interview

Page 18: Terra Firma Interview

Pages 19-20: Poster by Gav Soto titled “Epic Pt 1 - Towers Of The Wasp Spiral”, which is one part of a 9 part poster

Pages 21-22: Nightstick Interview

Page 23: Grief Interview

Page 24: Relapse Records AD

Pages 25-26: Church Of Misery Interview

Pages 27-28: Burning Witch Interview

Page 29: Brutal Truth Interview

Pages 30-32: Reviews

Page 33: Another poster by Gav Soto titled “The Tower”

Pages 34-38: Reviews (contd.) + a contact’s section on page 38

[diamantefangs]

Tag Game

ooohhh heheheee

Last Song: Kesha - Eat The Acid I love the whole album but this and "The Drama" have their claws in me and I'm listening to them a reasonable amount.

Currently Watching: I've been watching a lot of DVDs while I do art for clients as of late, I'm on season 4 of The Simpsons. I like having on something I enjoy but don't need to pay massive attention to while I work.

Currently Reading: I've been rereading Simon Hanselmann's "Bad Gateway". I'm, admittedly, not much of a reader unless it's graphic novels.

Current Obsession: Since buying a new printer, I've been looking into what future convention merch I can print at home (if it's something that can be done on my own, then I want to do it on my own). So right now I'm looking for a long neck stapler within my budget, so I can bind future zines.

Tagging: as always, no pressure!

@hydrocelestis / @vimbry / @lucillesharpeapologist

[fallenloverecords]

2022: In A Sunshine State

When the year began, the COVID-19 pandemic had begun to loosen its grip but the future was still cloudy. Would we be able to go places again in the summer? See our friends regularly? By the end of the year it felt largely, finally behind us. I got married this year. We honeymooned in California. I tabled at a zine fair for the first time in years and sold more zines than I had in ten years. I continued to make mixtapes for myself and co-host a weekly professional wrestling podcast with new episodes coming out every week. While Fallen Love might be buried, I still find artistic outlets where I can. No matter how the world changes, for better, for worse, I have my tent poles. Indiepop will always fuel me. Alternative comics. Old cartoon shows. My cats. My wife. A walk in the woods. A trip to the beach. They can't take that away from us. There are small joys all around you if you can find them.

"My 10 Favorite Albums Of 2022"

1. Martha - Please Don't Take Me Back 2. Let's Whisper - The In-Between Times 3. Plains - I Walked With You A Ways 4. Jenny Berkel - These Are The Sounds Left From Leaving 5. Jeanines - Don't Wait For A Sign 6. Alvvays - Blue Rev 7. Pale Blue Eyes - Souvenirs 8. No Suits In Miami - Nothing Ever Happens 9. SZA - S.O.S. 10. Poster Paints - Poster Paints "My 5 Favorite EP's Of 2022"

1. Jobber - Hell In A Cell 2. Blunt Chunks - Blunt Chunks 3. Girl And Her Bad Mood - Bluest Year 4. Jonathan Richman - Cold Pizza & Other Hot Stuff 5. Four Eyes - The Freaky EP "My 2 Favorite Cover Songs" 1. Martha - "My Heart Is A Drummer" (Allo Darlin' cover) 2. The Goon Sax - "Steal My Sunshine" (Len cover) "My 10 Favorite Songs Not On The Above Releases"

1. Tiny Microphone - "Holiday" 2. Even As We Speak - "Begins Goodbye" 3. April June - "Leave Tonight" 4. Ribbon Stage - "No Alternative" 5. Acid House Kings - "Honey, Honey" 6. Madeleine Moss & Matt Bauer - "A Secret Road" 7. Lost Film - "Big Talk" 8. Strawberry Generation - "Miss Me" 9. The Slow Summits - "Time's On Your Side" 10. Dizzy - "Barking Dog" "Top 5 Blogs" 1. For The Rabbits 2. Records I Like 3. Various Small Flames 4. Jangle Pop Hub 5. When You Motor Away "Last.fm: Most Listened To Artists" 1. Eels 2. Martha 3. Jens Lekman 4. Tullycraft 5. Counting Crows "Last.fm: Most Listened To Pre-2022 Songs" 1. Counting Crows - "Up All Night (Frankie Miller Goes To Hollywood)" 2. Mary Love - "You Turned My Bitter Into Sweet" 3. Counting Crows - "Rain King" 4. Frank Wilson - "Do I Love You (Indeed I Do)" 5. Why? - "Fatalist Palmistry"

[ohwhoadude]

goddamn man not to go on about this a lil late but i thought we all agreed not to tell creators and actors about our shit in like 2013 if not earlier, why do some of you not have shame anymore. the only time i've been ok with the idea of folks involved with media i write for seeing it is ed solomon and alex winter having presumably read the g-rated thing i wrote for the BNT zine WHICH WAS FOR CHARITY AND A THING MADE TO PASSED AROUND. if they ever got a whiff of the shit i've done for shits and giggles (esp since most of it is porn), my ao3 account would be locked

why in god's name would you ever wanna report what you did to a creator for a huge reason like "what you did goes against why i consume any media, feel bad about it" my god!!! fix it on your own!!!! as if he's supposed to apologize, go to bed!!!!!! do you see me emailing kathryn bigelow about acidic, i'd rather DRINK ACID

[slutdge]

[superhero--imagines]

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info I Instagram I Zine

- So like- you guys have seen those good review videos on snapchat right?

- Where these public figures will try trendy food and rate it

- So Atsumu is there as a popular volleyball player, known for having a loud charismatic personality

- And you’re there too

- You can decide what it’s for: maybe you’re an up and coming writer promoting your book, a content creator on social media, a noteworthy chef, whatever-

- You’re both sitting side by side

- You’re Introducing yourself when Atsumu gets a whiff of you

- You smell good- you can decide what it is, maybe your perfume/cologne, or your shampoo

- Whatever it is it makes Atsumu feel like he’s drunk

- All lightheaded with a flush creeping up his neck

- It’s attraction at first sniff

- When he gets past the smell and takes a look at you, well dang you’ve kinda got a cute face huh?

- Maybe not something as flashy as the models/athletes he see’s

- It’s something gentler

- You’re still cute though

- You on the other hand-

- You look calm

- But I promise your soul has left your body and it is currently on another plane of existence SCREAMING INTO THE VOID

- You knew an athlete was going to be doing this with you

- But you didn’t think it was THE ATSUMU MIYA

- you’re a huge fan

- Would it be unprofessional to ask him to autograph something for you?

- Before either of you can mess up this feeble attraction you have (you with your fangirling and him with his bad pick up lines) they bring out the first thing you guys are trying

- “Oh, it looks like one of those grain bowls!” You say

- Atsumu nods next to you

- “I see some mixed grains-“

- “A lot of olives and tomatoes”

- “There are two dressings!” Cue Atsumu making the Pikachu meme face

- Lololol

- “I’m struggling to mix it tbh” you confess and Atsumu nods beside you

- “Oh I gotta great idea!”

- He makes a little well in the middle of his plastic bowl, puts both his dressing in there, closes the lid, and shakes it.

- While he’s shaking it, the bowl slips from his fingers and flies across the room, landing on the floor and spilling everywhere

- You both look at it, and then at the crew

- “Y’all wouldn’t happen to have another one?”

- You end up having to share yours with him

- “It’s good!” You say, but your eyebrows are threaded and your expression says otherwise

- Atsumu gives you a skeptical expression

- “I mean- it’s not bad it’s just-“

- “It’s hella bland” Atsumu finishes and you nod

- “Yeah they’re really giving us nothing here”

- “It needs some acid, y’all wouldn’t happen to have hot sauce would ya” Atsumu asks

- And to his surprise, your hand dips into your bag and you pull out a bottle of hot sauce

- You put it on your portion before offering it to him

- “So does everyone carry hot sauce in their bag now?” He asks, half teasing and you shake your head

- “Nah, just me and Beyoncé”

- Atsumu laughs

- The verdict?

- “It’s good with the hot sauce,” Atsumu says in between bites

- “It was better with the hot sauce” you nod in agreement

- “Also, that was a lot of food! I couldn’t finish my half, so I feel like it’s a really good quantity”

- You look over to Atsumu who’s polished his portion

- “Unless you’re Atsumu,” you say with a giggle

- “Unless your me,” he says with a grin

- You guys are really vibing tbh, and the crew picks up on it too

- It’s always cool when the guests are good to work with, it makes everyone happy

- The next thing they bring out is a matcha latte

- “Oooo I like that foam on top”

- Atsumu stirs his drink getting the matcha evenly in it

- “They have that lid on top to sip from, that’s how you know they charged you too much for this drink” Atsumu jokes and you laugh

- You got a cute laugh, he thinks

- A smirks curling on his lips but it promptly disappears the second he takes a sip

- “Oh that’s terrible”

- “It’s really bad”

- You’re gagging

- “I didn’t think they could make matcha this bad”

- “They literally charged y’all $15 to give ya grass in a cup with some coconut milk huh?”

- Verdict

- “No”

- “Never”

- While the crew is getting you ready for the next course you guys chat a little

- “So you guys have a game next week right?” Atsumu perks up at that

- Ah so you’re a fan?

- Well that helps his odds

- “Yeah, it’s supposed to be a tough one.”

- “I like your odds though” and it’s true you think their odds are super good, they’ve got Bokuto and Hinata after all

- Plus they’ve all got really good communication with each other

- “Well maybe ya can stop by at my next game and see the outcome for ya self”

- Atsumu’s not joking he’s being serious

- But before you can say anything it’s time to film again

- The last thing you guys try is a three-tier cake

- “It looks pretty,” you say, it’s layers of cream with a nice thick layer of strawberry in the middle

- “ ‘s not enough jam” Atsumu appraises

- “Big strawberry fan?” You ask and Atsumu shrugs

- Normally he’d say something like ‘let me take to dinner and then you can find out

- But he doesn’t wanna put you on the spot on camera so he shrugs

- “I’d rather have fruit than cake ya feel?”

- You nod

- “Fruit, nature’s candy,” you say with a very serious expression

- Atsumu laughs so hard he cries

- You both take a hesitant bite

- After all, that matcha latte looked good too

- “Bruuuuuh,” He says immediately after

- “Can we get another slice?” You ask between bites

- “Is it soaked in something?”

- “I think it’s like a cream?”

- “The cake is soaked in a cream liquor,” the crewman behind the camera tells you

- “I don’t even care that I’m not supposed to have alcohol,” Atsumu says shoving cake into his mouth

- “It’s so good!”

- Verdict

- “We ate too much, and ... it’s somehow hard to breathe?” You’re slumped back in your chair and Atsumu is in a similar state

- “It’s all that sugar” he shakes his head

- “Worth it though”

- “Oh one hundred percent”

- And that’s a wrap

- “It was really fun working with you guys!”

- The producer shakes your hand and you tell him it was a pleasure to work with him as well

- “Yeah, it’s always nice having happy couples in y’know? Always brings a good vibe to the space”

- Atsumu doesn’t miss the way you turn bright red

- “O-oh no we’re not a couple!”

- You with the great Atsumu Miya? No way

- You’d probably faint if he tried to hold your hand

- The producer gives you a confused expression

- “Oh? Well then maybe you should be”

- You don’t miss the devilish smile on their face as they walk away leaving a short-circuiting (Y/N) and A grinning Atsumu

- You turn to him, hoping to see him in a similar state

- But he’s just grinning at you

- “Well ya heard them, let’s go get some coffee to make up for that crappy one”

- You’re just blindly following him wondering if this is a prank or a dream

- “I know a place that has an actual good matcha latte, if ya like those that is”

- And you’re standing on the edge

- You could easily tell him no you don’t like matcha lattes at all, or that you have somewhere else to be

- You can just walk away

- But when you look into those bright brown eyes the words rumble right out

- “I would love that”

Bonus:

- “Hey ‘Sumu,” he shifts beside you, the arm that’s sling over your shoulder shifting slightly

- “They invited us back to the show,” you say showing him the email you got

- “That producer did say they like couples,” he says with a grin, squeezing your shoulder

- “As long as we don’t have to drink that matcha latte again”

[milkteamoon]

From Sticks and Stones, to Lunar Seas

Read on Ao3

Fandom: Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun Rating: teen and up Tags: angst, slight body horror Relationships: Amane & Tsukasa Yugi

Amane and Tsukasa visit a beach. They've been here before. Written for Twin Stars Zine @twinstarszine

“Hey Tsukasa, did you know? Mermaids turn to seafoam when they die. It’s kinda sad, isn’t it?”

~

Tsukasa had first tasted seafoam when he was seven. 

He hadn’t quite known what it was, in all honesty, and it hadn’t at all tasted like the sugary floss he expected. It was just the childish instinct of mouth-to-foreign-object that’d propelled him, and of course, Amane had scolded him after the matter. As he should have. As Tsukasa deserved. He wasn’t so ignorant as to miss when he’d done something bad.

And it’s seafoam lapping at his ankles as he sits on the shore: silent, alone, in the same place as always. Hands dug into black coarse sand till his nails begin to bleed. Feet snuggled beneath the gentle lapping of the waves that sizzle, snap with each repeated cycle, and he wonders if it’d sting, like bleach or acid, if it could still reach his skin. 

The “alone” part isn’t completely true though, he supposes, as Amane lays beside him in his usual spot. But Amane’s not here, not awake yet. He’s always late, and that’s fine – Amane always was the last to rise in the morning.

So Tsukasa sits in silence. And waits. And listens.

And the funny thing is, Tsukasa always liked the beach. Likes. He likes the beach. Funny in the sense of getting a double yolk in an egg, or funny in the sense that Amane killed him one week before their birthday. It’s that kind of non-humor that leaves him reminiscing about times he’d like to forget, about their lives they’d long since buried.

Tsukasa liked the beach that they frequented as children, with castles at their fingertips and stars in the puddles. He liked the shaved ice they could get for free if they pouted to the man at the cart long enough. He liked the sun. The sand. The rock he claimed to be from the moon, even if he didn’t know for sure when he presented it to his twin. Amane didn’t question it, however. Amane never questioned his baby brother.

Tsukasa only tolerates this beach, one he’d only visited thrice. Once, when he’d stayed under the water a bit too long at the pool. Once after an argument some fifty years ago that ended in a knife through his sternum. And now, for no reason at all in particular.  

In all honesty, it was starting to get old.

This beach doesn’t have a sun, only an endless stretch of twilight. In place of people to sell them shaved ice, grandparents to smear them white in sunscreen, or lifeguards to whistle and shout, there were shadows. Just shadows. Most shaped like humans with arms and heads, some shaped like insects or birds or wolves. Once he spots one shaped uncannily like Amane, from the eyes, the hair, all the way down to the knife in his hand. Tsukasa doesn’t look too long at that one. Doesn’t want to. Doesn’t need to. Amane’s right there beside him, isn’t he?

The question is answered before he can even check.

“Tsukasa?”

There it is.

The name hits him with a jolt, a spark. Not in fear or pain, but in pure, fiery joy that sends him lurching to his twin. He’s awake! He knew he’d wake up! He just knew!

“Ama-”

No.

The single word sates his momentum. Not spoken, not thought. But etched across his brother’s face, scribbled between his brow and dribbling with the sweat peeling down his pale forehead. Tsukasa’s rocked back to his seat with a force like a wave, despite there being none. Just lapping. Just seafoam.

“....ne.”

The name falls flat.

“Why are we here, Tsukasa?” Amane chokes with a whimper pitched below. “Why the hell are we here again?”

Tsukasa notes this fear, this concern, but elects to ignore them both as he turns and snatches his surprise from the notch in the sand beside him.

“Look Amane. Look,” he grins, holding the stone to the glow. “It’s a moon rock, just for you – to replace the old one!”

But Amane doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t move, breathe, blink. Only digs his fingers deeper into the black sand until they bleed, just like his mirror image before.

So Tsukasa lets his face drop into a tight line. And with a huff, he tosses the rock aside, plucking another from the pile he’d gathered.

“Here Amane, what about this one? It’s kinda red, you like red!”

Amane only stares, so he throws it to the ripples.

“Amane, what do you think of this? It reminds me of a dinosaur!”

No blink. No breath. Tsukasa reaches for another.

“Amane, what about this?

“Amane, do you like this one?

“Amane.

“Amane.

“Amane-”

“Stop it! STOP IT!”

Amane scrambles to his feet, eyes screwed shut to his skull as he tries to make distance. 

“I don’t want another moon rock, Tsukasa!” he snaps with a gasp. “I don’t want to play these games anymore!”

And it’s Tsukasa’s turn to stay silent. Tsukasa’s turn to stare, to hold his breath. Not that he needed to do either anymore. Amane had taken those away not long after he’d taken the moon rock too. 

Amane never liked the beach, and Tsukasa knew this. Amane never shared in their smuggled shaved ice, never picked starfish or crabs or sea urchins out of the tidal pools. He never dug too deeply in the sand. Never waded out past the line of seafoam. Tsukasa’s not even sure he would have taken the original rock if his little brother hadn’t insisted, and even then, he hadn’t liked it enough to keep it. Hadn’t cared enough. It wasn’t good enough.

They all weren’t good enough. Just like Tsukasa.

He knows it’s true, even before he meets Amane’s frantic gaze.

“Fine, fine,” Tsukasa swallows, “it’s okay. I have others! I have.....I have-”

Yeah, that’s right. He has that.

Amane seems to pick up on the idea digging into Tsukasa’s skull as his foot jerks forward. Hand stretches out to cast one sharp “Tsukasa don’t-”

And then it’s too late.

And then Tsukasa’s already moving.

The motion is swift and relatively undeterred as he plunges his hand into his own chest – between sloppily pinned buttons, knife-torn skin, ribs cracked and brittle. It’s not difficult to find what he’s looking for, as it wriggles and squirms beneath his clutch, fighting back when he finally tears it free from its shackles. All the while Amane watches, frozen in place and pale as snow. 

“Here Amane, just for you!” Tsukasa gives the organ a squeeze. “Did you know supernaturals have hearts like this? Even though you took mine, I still have this to give.”

And that’s enough. It’s enough. It had to be enough.

“And that’s okay. I’d have given it to you anyway,” Tsukasa laughs, hand outstretched and ready to take. The heart’s rhythm drips from it with every trickle of black and red, until it’s still. Cold. Like a rock he may have found on the beach, long ago. “So you can take this one too, okay Amane? To replace your moon rock.”

Amane only stands and stares as Tsukasa moves. But not at the heart. Not at the tear in the center of his chest. Amane’s looking at Tsukasa, who should be his twin, as if he were a stranger he’d only seen in nightmares. And that’s okay. That’s fine. Tsukasa’s used to this look. Because Tsukasa’s also looking at a stranger. Not the Amane he once knew, the Amane who left him with metal in his chest. Not the brother he grew up with who picked starfish out of tidal pools. This is Hanako-san now. This is Lord Number Seven. This is an Amane that Tsukasa doesn’t know, but he wants to. Oh, he wants to-

But he doesn’t.

He just ... can’t.

Because Amane opens his mouth and gives him eleven words. Five in voice, and six unspoken, but they’re there. They both know the words are there.

“I don’t want it, Tsukasa,” Amane states, monotone.

And I don’t want you either.

And then there’s silence.

And then there’s Amane dribbling into seafoam, pulled off by the twilight tide.

And then there’s nothing.

Just as usual.

So Tsukasa waits in the sand silently, letting the waves lap his feet as long as he can stand. The organ in his hand has long since shriveled away to black, smooth stone, tinted blue by the sky’s glow, and he turns to face the sea. To the horizon speckled in crumbling infrastructure and the stars that have fallen upon them. 

And when he’s looked long and hard enough, he throws as strong as his arm will allow.

~

Tsukasa wakes with a start and a needless, shuttering breath. It’s cold there, he’s certain by the way his gasp shutters into smoke, but he can’t feel the nip. Never can. That’s one good thing about being dead.

“Bad dream?” Sakura asks from somewhere inside the room. The smell of tea does little to calm, but he forces the feeling on himself. Past his lips. Down his throat. Until his hands stop shaking and clench back into fists.

He doesn’t answer — he never likes giving Sakura answers — but places a hand to his chest stitched back into a single piece. It feels still, empty, just as it should. Just as it always should.

Still, empty, and dead.

Mermaids fall away into seafoam when they die, and Tsukasa can’t help but wonder if humans do the same.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @lifeistrangezine Chaos Theory zine!  I wanted to explore some of the branches Max went through.

…

…

…

…

“The trolley problem.” Ms. Hoida stood at the front of the classroom, writing out the words on the blackboard. Her chalk hit the board in hard taps, confident strokes that did not match her quiet demeanor. “It’s a common philosophical question, one that will be explored in the book you will read this semester.”

 She turned around, smiling brightly at the class. “The question is this: a trolley is barrelling down the tracks. In the distance, you see five people standing in your path. There’s a fork in the road and you can save them by changing tracks. But in doing so, you’ll kill a lone worker who’s on this second track. You can’t warn them nor can you stop the trolley in time. What do you do?”

 There was a long silence as no one answered. Ms. Hoida raised a brow, looking at them curiously. “Who lives and who dies?”

 Max tried not to snort. What an easy question—the answer was obvious.

 You’d pick the path with one person every single time.

-x-

 Case Chloe:

 Max crouched in the darkness, the jackhammer beating of her heart so loud she didn’t know how it didn’t give her away. The girls’ change room wasn’t that big, the white tiles echoing every sound. It was a miracle that Mr. Madsen hadn’t heard her yet.

 Pressed against the cool metal lockers, she peered around the corner. Max could barely make out his back, the light of his flashlight swinging away as he inspected every nook and cranny for an intruder. This was exactly what she expected to happen when she joined Chloe for a midnight swim: trouble. Trouble that would mar her school record forever.

 Something cold and soft touched her arm and Max covered her mouth to muffle her scream. It was just Chloe, it was only Chloe. She could still smell the chlorine from the pool as water dripped down her spiky blue hair. Max turned to look at her, her outline barely visible in the almost non-existent light. Mr. Madsen stepped forward, his footstep echoing on the tiles, and Max pulled Chloe along as she quietly tiptoed toward the exit.

 If they could just sneak out—

 “Who’s there?” Mr. Madsen growled, swinging around. His flashlight landed on them and Max felt like a deer in the headlights, waiting for the car to crash. “Chloe. Why am I not surprised?”

 “Fuck,” Chloe muttered before snarling back, “Not like you know how to have any fun!”

 Max swallowed, watching the two argue, their words growing more heated by the second. She could fix this. All she needed to do was concentrate and she could fix this. Closing her eyes, she focused on time, on the photo negatives of her past, going through them until she found one just before they chose the girls’ change room to hide in.

 “Anyone there?” Mr. Madsen called out, his flashlight shining into the girls’ change room.

 Max quietly made her way back to the pool, intercepting Chloe before she could hide. “Boys’ change room.”

 “What?” Chloe stared at her, confused, before realization dawned. “Super Max to the rescue, huh?”

 Super Max. It didn’t feel particularly heroic to use her powers like this, but she’d take what she could get.

 -x-

 Case Warren:

 “How does it look?” Sitting on the desk, Warren tilted his head back, angling his face toward the light. His hands rested between his legs, keeping him balanced as he patiently waited for her inspection.

 Max set down the first aid kit on a free desk. Luckily, the science room was empty for once, free of Brook or her teachers. Leaning forward, she tucked a lock behind her ear as she studied Warren’s face. Under the light, his skin looked paler than usual, the dark circle around his eye blacker. There was a cut on his bottom lip, dried blood crusted at the edges. “You look…” she paused, not sure what to say.

 “Beat up?” Warren suggested playfully, grinning.

 “Beat up,” she agreed, pulling back to open the first aid kit. “I can’t believe you did that.”

 “Me neither.” He chuckled before wincing. Gingerly, he touched his lip and groaned. “Man, Nathan packs a punch for a rich guy.”

 “He really hurt you,” Max warned, her eyes flickering to his black eye. She couldn’t stop staring at it.

 “I just wasn’t ready.” Raising his fists, he punched the air in front of him. “Next time, I’ll be the one punching him.”

 “Or you’ll be the one—” Getting beat. Getting shot. She’d almost forgotten about it, the bathroom shooting that chain-started her powers. Nathan was dangerous, far more dangerous than anyone realized.

 “Or what?” Warren raised a brow, staring at her.

 Max faltered, not sure what to say. “He’s just…dangerous.” Her fingers rifled through the band-aids idly. “Just…be careful, okay?”

 “Yeah, you don’t have to worry about me.” Chest puffed out, Warren winked at her dorkily. “I’m kinda like a hero, you know?”

 “Heroes don’t usually get beat up,” she pointed out. If she went back to the parking lot, if she and Chloe got there quicker or warned Warren, would he be okay? Sure, he was smiling now, but he was also in Nathan’s bad books.

 And Nathan wasn’t the kind of person who settled for getting even.

 “I’m sorry,” Max apologized. Before he could ask why, time was rewinding itself.

 -x-

 Case Kate:

 This is wrong. The single thought replayed over and over in Max’s head as she stood in front of the dormitory, staring down at the steps. A single, framed picture of Kate sat on the middle rung, surrounded by rings of candles and bouquets of white lilies. In the dark, the lights flickered, casting multiple shadows over her picture. A white bear sat at the bottom of the staircase.

 Kate likes rabbits. Max stared at the stuffed bear, fighting the urge to pick it up and chuck it over the field. But that wasn’t what was wrong, was it? Bear, rabbit, it didn’t change the fact that this was a memorial for Kate.

 That Kate was dead.

 As the thought struck her, she hunched over and covered her mouth. The acidic taste of bile lingered on her tongue, even though it had been hours since she’d last vomited. If Max turned to her left, if she tilted her head a centimeter, she could see the spot where Kate fell, hear the sickening crunch as she landed. Yellow caution tape still surrounded the spot, the cops not finished with their investigation.

 This is wrong, she thought again, trying to force her legs to move. If she went up a floor, she’d find Kate’s room. Maybe she was playing with her rabbit or reading a book. A light would spill through the cracks of her closed door, her soft humming barely audible as Max walked past. On her whiteboard would be some stupid insult and Max would erase it and doodle something cheerful.

 Somewhere, someone was crying, and Max wasn’t sure if it was her. It was automatic this time, her grip on her powers, the world slipping around her as she fought the flow of time.

  This was one fate she couldn’t allow to pass.

 -x-

 Case Frank:

 A gunshot echoed in Max’s ears as she stared at the ground, at the blood pooling around Frank’s body. It spread slowly, unevenly on the concrete. Red spots dotted her shoes.

 Next to her, Chloe dropped her gun with a clatter, her hand covering her mouth. “He…he attacked. It was the only way to protect us.” Desperate, she turned to Max, tears in her eyes. “Right? That’s…there’s nothing we could have done.”

 Max studied her. Behind them, the ocean waves calmly lapped on the beach and seagulls cried overhead. It was strange, she felt oddly peaceful as she nodded and looked back down at Frank. He stared blankly at the sky, his beloved dog next to him. “It’s okay, Chloe.” She had lived through this scene five times already and there were other, better outcomes. “It’ll be okay.”

 Her ears were the only ones that would remember Frank’s death gurgle. Her eyes were the only ones that would remember this sight.

 Next time, next time she’d say the right thing.

 -x-

 Case Max:

 Max shivered, tightening her grip on Chloe’s wet, clammy hands. In the middle of the storm, in the midst of all this destruction, her warmth was grounding. Rain plastered Max’s hair to her face uncomfortably, but she didn’t push them away, too afraid to let go.

 The wind howled around them as they stood at the top of the hill, at the edge of the cliff. The lighthouse lit the sea up every few seconds, but there was no safety in its beam. The storm was upon them and it would take more than a ray of light to rescue them.

 “Max.” Chloe’s voice was soft for once. “You know what you have to do.”

 She shook her head, keeping her eyes glued to their interlaced hands. “I can’t do anything about this. I’m not that super.”

 “Max,” Chloe repeated, tugging her hands up and forcing her to look up. “Look at the town.”

 She didn’t want to. Even after running through it, saving her classmates and friends, seeing the fire and damage, it was easy to pretend out here. It was quieter at the lighthouse, the storm drowning out every other sound, and maybe the town was fine. Maybe everything was fine and they just had to wait it out.  

 “Look, Max.” Impatience leaked into her voice, and Chloe tugged Max’s hands again urgently. “Look.”

 Despite herself, she did. She turned her head, followed Chloe’s gaze to the ruins of their town. To the hurricane landing on the shoreline, ripping buildings off the earth. From here, she couldn’t hear the screams, but she could imagine them.

 Oh, she could imagine them.

 “They’re all going to die, aren’t they?” Max muttered, watching at the storm move closer and closer to the diner. To Joyce. To Frank. To Warren and Kate and—

 “Yeah, but they don’t have to.” Chloe clutched her hands tightly, forcing her attention back to her.

 Immediately, Max knew what she meant. “No.”

 She tried to pull away but Chloe didn’t let her. Despite how slick her hands were from the rain, her grip remained tight. “Max!”

 “I can’t, Chloe! That’d mean…” Her eyes welled, her sight growing even more blurry. “That…that day, in the bathroom…Nathan, he-he—” killed you, but Max couldn’t utter the last words, couldn’t make them real.

 “I know! And I…I don’t want to die, Max!” Chloe shook her head, her voice cracking. “But I don’t want them to die too. I’m just me, you know? One person, against a whole town—it’s an easy choice, isn’t it?”

 One person versus many.

 The Trolley problem, Ms. Hoida had said, her chalk hitting the board confidently. Who would you save?

 Chloe or the town.

 Chloe or Kate, Warren, Joyce, her classmates, her neighbours, perfect strangers.

 Max could hear wheels rolling down a track, feel the cool metal of a track shaft between her hands. Left or right, the many vs the one.

 It was an easy choice.

 It was supposed to be an easy choice.

 “I…I…” Max stared up at Chloe helplessly.

 Whatever path she took, only heartbreak lay at the end.

[gayenerd]

This interview was the cover story for the 17th issue of Jaded In Chicago. It was conducted in September of 2004, several weeks prior to the release of American Idiot. It was a fitting end to the fanzine that was named after the band, as “Jaded In Chicago” references Green Day’s 1994 MTV concert special. To come full circle by interviewing the band that inspired the zine’s moniker was somewhat surreal.

With the release of American Idiot, Green Day has transcended punk rock. By crafting the first punk rock opera and fashioning what is likely the first tasteful concept album of the new millennium, they’ve provided pop punk bands everywhere with a blueprint for how to mature gracefully. Additionally, as much as American Idiot is about innovation, it’s also a return to the fundamentals of punk rock. The album sears with dissent, takes aim between the eyes of the Bush administration and contains a dangerous sense of unpredictability. It’s been ten years since Green Day was the most popular band in the world and with any luck American Idiot will allow them to recapture that title in no time. (Interview with drummer Tré Cool).

Bill – Before we talk about American Idiot, I wanted to discuss the infamous “lost” album first. About a year and a half ago, you guys recorded what was to be the follow-up to Warning, but reportedly the master tapes were stolen. What can you tell me about what happened?

Tré – We just knew that if it ever came out, we couldn’t do any of those same songs on the actual record. If somebody puts it out, like crappier versions of the songs, it’s going to totally ruin it. Plus, it happened right around the same time that Billie wrote the song “American Idiot” and most of “Holiday.” We were in the middle of working on those songs, so we just decided not to look back and we kept going forward.

Bill – I’ve read that you feel American Idiot is “maximum Green Day.” Why exactly do you feel this way?

Tré – Well, because we’re firing on all cylinders, ya know? Everything about even just being in the band now feels so right. Everything from the recording process to the live shows to our ambitions. This might sound kind of dumb, but even the clothes we’re wearing during photo shoots. It’s more together like a band.

Bill – People are certainly expecting this record to be political, but I think they’re going to be surprised when they hear how you really go for the throat with some of the lyrics. Examples of this would of course be the title track and also the breakdown section of “Holiday.” What are some of the main reasons why you’re so pissed off with this country?

Tré – It’s more like confused and jaded, if you will, (laughs). The bombardment of bullshit, fake news, like Fox News and CNN. All the reality-based shit that’s on television, stuff like Fear Factor that the government is using to keep everybody like good little sheep and not asking too many questions. It’s like how if a cop hears you use the word “terror” it basically means he can take any normal American citizen’s rights away from them. A cop can do that at his or her discretion if they think you might be a terrorist or whatnot. The whole Patriot Act. It’s like do we actually have any rights after all? We don’t have the right to a proper election, we already found that out. The fabric of our government right now is basically just made out of one hundred dollar bills that are drenched in oil. As far as this upcoming election goes, I know that John Kerry is extremely conservative and he’s nowhere near the liberal we need in the White House to clean up the mess. However, he’s not George Bush. Kerry’s money is in ketchup. Bush’s money is in oil and blood. I’d choose ketchup over that, (laughs).

Bill – How do you hope people react to these songs?

Tré – I hope they can look past the strong language and go into the meaning of it. I hope they realize there’s a bit of sarcasm. I hope they don’t feel that we’re telling them what to do. We’re just sort of pointing the fingers at ourselves, saying like “I don’t want to be an American idiot or I don’t want to be a part of this bullshit.”

Bill – Talk about the character called “Jesus of Suburbia.” What sort of journey does he embark on throughout these songs and what made you choose this type of format for your songwriting?

Tré – The album is sort of like a timeline of his life. Depending on where you’re at with your life, you probably fit somewhere on that timeline yourself. Whether it’s the “Holiday” party stage, or the “Give Me Novacaine” drug stage or the “Extraordinary Girl” being in love stage; all these different stages in life show that what paths you choose will inevitably lead you somewhere. It’s not necessarily the happiest ending in the world, but it’s pretty realistic.

Bill – Are you at all worried about some of your fans possibly being alienated by the two nine-minute rock operas found on the album?

Tré – I don’t think they’ll even notice they’re nine-minute songs. They’ll think they’re a bunch of short songs put together. It’s definitely short attention span theater. It’s not like Wilco, where they have a ten-minute song with the same drumbeat and the same chord progression. Not saying anything bad about Wilco, they’re a fine band. They’re great to relax to and drink iced tea to, (laughs). I think we’d get bored doing that. We just sort of get to the point, say what we want to say and move on to the next part of the song. The way the energy flows in the songs is sort of like the way America is now too, just so scattered. There’s a big misrepresentation of how we feel in this bullshit climate right now.

Bill – One of the most important topics you address on this record is the American media. Specifically, how it perpetuates fear amongst the public and does little to question the President’s follow-through on his promises. Do you think the average American is aware of how the wool is being pulled over their eyes?

Tré – No, not at all. Say you see some guy driving down the street with a Bush/Cheney sticker on his Chevy S-10, beat-up truck with a pair of flip-flops hanging off the back. I want to ask him, “Why the fuck are you a Republican? What’s in it for you, dude?” Bush isn’t doing a thing for those people. He’s not helping them get a better truck or put food on the table. He’s not going to give them a tax break. Republicans don’t care about you. They’re not going to try and help you in any way. They just want to use you and get your dead peasants insurance once you’re gone.

Bill – Tell me about the upcoming club dates that you have scheduled where you plan to perform American Idiot in its entirety. Who came up with the idea and what are you looking forward to most about it?

Tré – I’d credit Pete Townshend with the idea. We’ve always admired The Who and their lack of inhibition as far as going for whatever crazy idea they had. As crazy as something like Tommy was when it was just a small idea, compared to what it’s become now, it’s pretty insane. They did A Quick One, where they played that live. That was a quick one, but ours is an hour. Basically, we just want to kick The Who’s ass. I listened to Who’s Next yesterday, which a lot of people are comparing American Idiot to. We totally got them beat. I’ve always aspired to be as good of a drummer as Keith Moon and I think I’ve fuckin’ passed by him on this record.

Bill – Roughly ten years ago, Dookie was released and went on to sell over ten million copies and become one of the most notable albums of the ‘90s. A decade later, I think you’ve constructed in American Idiot what is arguably your strongest record yet. Is there anything specific that you hope American Idiot accomplishes?

Tré – Yeah, I think it’s about time that people think of Green Day in a different light. We’re not snot-nosed kids anymore, we’re men now. I want people to think of us more as one of the mainstay supergroups of today. I’m not asking for too much, (laughs). We’re superheroes in our own minds. We think we’re really cool, why doesn’t everybody else?

Bill – What was the weirdest thing about being the biggest band in America in 1994?

Tré – I don’t think we really had time to enjoy it when it was happening. We were just trying to pay our rent and be able to make records for the rest of our lives. We didn’t know anything like that was ever going to happen. It sort of freaked us out a bit, but at the same time I was kind of busy just moving and doing it. We didn’t have time to look back since we were doing so much. By the time we had taken a break to make Insomniac it was like, “Do you guys know what you just did?” We were like, “Oh…shit.”

Bill – Earlier this year, Thick Records released the Out of Focus DVD, which featured live Green Day footage circa 1992. What are some of your favorite memories from playing at McGregor’s in Elmhurst, Illinois?

Tré – Demetri. Demetri was this male stripper that came onstage for some girl’s birthday at McGregor’s one night. They had her sit in this chair and the stripper did his thing for her. It was fuckin’ hilarious. In the middle of our show too. We took a timeout and let her get her strip on. I think that was the last time we played McGregor’s actually. I remember seeing State Street and I remember taking acid in Chicago. I remember going to the lake and wondering why all the fish were dead. I was inside Buckingham Fountain too. It was real hot out and I got in there during the Blues Fest. There were like a million people down there, but just one in the fountain. Of course this cop was like, “Get the fuck out of there! What are you thinking?” I was like, “I don’t know. I’m fried, dude.”

Bill – Do you have any comments regarding the rumors connecting members of Green Day to the mysterious band known as The Network?

Tré – The only connection is that their record was on Adeline, which is a label run by Billie Joe’s wife. That’s a few degrees of separation if you ask me. I think they’re getting a lot of mileage out of telling people they’re Green Day or pretending to be Green Day. The Network is not Green Day. Bastards.

Bill – Growing up I know that bands like the Ramones and The Who were very influential for you. What’s it like to now be one of the biggest influences on an entire generation of punk bands?

Tré – It’s kind of wild. Especially when younger bands meet you and they’re all nervous and stuff. You sort of get a little paternal with it, like “Ah…my children.” I feel like Michael Landon from Little House on the Prairie.

Bill – What has been the hardest part about achieving all the success you’ve attained?

Tré – I think you can pretty much choose what you want to deal with. You can choose for it to be difficult or you can enjoy it. It’s kind of up to the person.

Bill – After seven albums, what aspects of punk rock are still fresh and exciting to you?

Tré – I like seeing new bands. Bands that aren’t carbon-copied pop punk bands. Bands like Dillinger Four fuckin’ excite me. I think the Rock Against Bush compilation is a pretty damn good CD. There are some older bands on there that are still going strong and some younger bands that are real fresh and exciting too.

Bill – What does the future hold for Green Day?

Tré – I think whatever we put out next has got to be really fuckin’ good. After American Idiot we set the bar so high. It’s kind of like, “Now what are we going to do?”

[merskrat]

My best friend and I had a falling out five years ago. That time has gone by so fast, even though a ton of stuff has happened—I’ve been through a bunch of different jobs, gone back to school, started a career, started a women’s zine, had my first book published, and perhaps most importantly, found radical feminism. All of the friends I have in New York are radfems for the most part, and they really are a wonderful group of women. However I have known my former best friend since I was a toddler and I don’t think that that kind of relationship can be replaced. We have pictures together where we look so happy, pictures of us mid-laugh, pictures of us on the first day of kindergarten. I miss her but I unfortunately could not continue to be her friend because of her jealousy, insecurity and manipulation. She hates other women, but I didn’t realize that that included me as well. I just got tired of her mistreating me and snapping at me all the time, so I told her I was done. She ended up messaging my boyfriend (now husband) to tell him about an abortion I got when we weren’t together. She also said that I was in love with her boyfriend and was trying to steal him from her, and when I say I was surprised to hear her say that, I mean I was surprised. I had no idea that she felt that way and I do wonder how long she was entertaining this delusion while pretending to be my friend. I don’t think she allowed him to speak to me and forced him to delete me off social media, because I didn’t talk to him again until they broke up, and he’s been a friend to me and my family for years. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised because I’ve watched the way that she interacts with and talks to other women. All through school she would make up rumors and try to turn people against each other. A girl in my class tormented me all through elementary school because she told her that I talked shit about her. She told me that a friend had said that I pressured her to take drugs, and she told her cousin that another friend said that it was her cousin’s fault that her parents got a divorce. She told me that people said it was my fault that our friend cut herself, and when I asked her who, she just said “I don’t know, everyone.” I’ve heard her say, “She’s just so pretty and young,” as a reason for not liking someone who was really nice to her. (This was when we were only 23 or 24.) I suffered from terrible depression, and after I hadn’t gotten out of bed for days, my grandmother went across the street to see if she could come cheer me up. She came over and berated and guilted me instead, so my grandmother didn’t try that again (she always said that this girl wasn’t a good friend to me, and she was right.) I had a vial of acid and hooked her up with free trips all the time, and she wouldn’t even buy me a drink in return. She ended up stealing a five strip from me even though I told her I would give her as much as she wanted. She ended up selling it, and only gave me half of the money, and I was honestly speechless, I straight up did not know what to say to someone who was so blatantly dishonest and deceitful. She even physically attacked me once and started choking me. That alone should have been enough to never speak to her again, but instead I gave her chance after chance after chance. Honestly I think that the successes I’ve accomplished would enrage her, as someone who still lives with her mom, dropped out of college, gets drunk every night and works dead end jobs. I have never known her to be happy—she has something bad to say about everyone and everything. For fucks sake, she put Nair in her cousin’s shampoo bottle, and her cousin told me that she was legitimately scared of her. Sometimes I miss her and need to remind myself of why for my own well-being I can’t talk to her ever again, hence the blog post about what she is actually like. Honestly I did say some really horrible shit to her when I was angry, and I regret it deeply. This is before I found radical feminism and worked on dealing with my internalized misogyny.

[ammonitetestpatterns]

tag nine people you would like to know more about!

(nine is a bad number for me, like the standalone numerical unicode form provokes itchy discomfort and I can’t even type it right now. so I will just arbitrarily tag however many people I want)

last song, actually want to keep the last song I listened to a secret because it’s associated with one of the best experiences of my life, guess I can say: in love with the seesawing of her vox during the chorus, triumph soaked in cat’s gait of portato that dissolves into those sweet musette accordion sweeps. the last song before that was eldorado by aquapolis, still obsessed with the marquee moon (magazine affiliated label, not the television album) flexis. howard riley trio and pumice’s I’ll take no chance near a volcano, too.

last movie, some reels from anne charlotte robertson’s five year diary. also a ping pong of youtube clips (our loving cup!) ranging between far from vietnam and the trailers for an erotic vampire in paris and franco’s vampyros lesbos, with my boy friend.

currently watching, moomin (been thinking about “the imp” a lot lately, just inexplicably been jammed in my imaginarium? also opening sequence speed modulation brought on in gabaergically frazzled perceptual sludge, laffs that evade recollection), the wandering woodsman and dispatches from late 2000s emo kids. trawling the pennsound cinema archive and the arthur and corinne cantrill collection on vimeo. nelson sullivan and acid house illegal rave 1989 forever and always. everyday I can only hope to ever reach the platonic form of cool embodied by the girl in the pink shirt whose dance moves are perfectly beat matched with the quiens in “quien tu te crees”

currently reading, this is more representative of a broader recent time expanse rather than whatever’s literally implied via the phrase “right now,” but women and men, assorted new narrative writers, sachiko yoshihara, david keplinger, josephine jacobsen, dana ward (need to reach out to him via twitter or email, we had a brief exchange on the former earlier this year and I consider him to be a star friend. want to share my chintzy theories about video game metaphysics, spyro the dragon, the cultural memorially starbursted visual haecceity of at rosedale united’s cover art, candy floss junglism, and pop philosophy with him!), shampoo magazine, MAPS bulletin issues from the nineties, junglist zines and newsletters, stream of consciousness posts from lainons, vendor reviews (another literary form fermenting in its potentiality threshold), there’s a bunch of small imageboards that have cropped up in the past year or two that I am trying to play catch up with, ralee is kind of cool. maybe I will start applied ballardianism (huge relate to simon sellars and how he’s spun his protagonist, want to dendritically carry on that trail of pulp in my own poem prosaic writing) or the white shroud one of these days.

currently craving nutrition, the incipience of horizonal freedom in being able to go anywhere or do anything with the person I love, ashwagandha, the ability to graduate this spring semester (of course, that’s impossible) and sort out my financial situation, a new turntable, more vintage silk scarves. ruefully, the only things eaten today: leftover nutridetritus and spirulina tablets, wish there could be more besides half an avocado. I want to start working at the wendy’s where my niece and her ex are stationed, because even though they are both younger than me, I know they would make sure nobody picks on me (sorry if that makes me sound like a doormat?). really wish I could work at the special collections center at my uni library again. honestly I am ebullient, a shooting star shaped anemone of aspiration, and with all the plastic cherry knots that tangle into my heart, I know that I can propel myself towards the productive whirlpool that saunters laffy taffyingly into that horizon.