The City that Never Sleeps

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    My favorite walk used to be down Myrtle Avenue over the Brooklyn bridge to The Metropolitan Museum .
    My favorite bookstores The Magikal Child and Samuel Weiser among a million other nice ones i forget their names .

    Just starting a thread for NYNY , Thelema ,
    and might as well throw in Culture and the Hardcore Punk Scene .



    elite machinery posted “@ignant666 your stories are great..since you’re a writer and retired…why not entertain the masses with a regular sample of your life in the form of a blog or book or all of the above? frame it as a tale of a man influenced by Thelema and AC so you can share some of it here…you’d have kids lining up around the block to hear you read them aloud..just like Buk!


    come on Travis



    Jeez, so impatient– i was out buying stuff to make a batch of beer, and also groceries, and some plants for my garden.

    Now that you’ve put me on the spot, of course i can’t think of any good stories.

    Let’s see: Magickal Childe was originally The Warlock Shoppe, and was on a small back street in Brooklyn Heights when that was still pretty funky, other than the Promenade which has pretty much always been rich folks.

    My pal Sam lived nearby, and used to make dildo candles for The Warlock Shoppe when he was in high school, which is a pretty “Only in NY” kind of after-school job.

    Samuel Weiser is an important part of my Thelemite journey. I lived in a very small town in the woods in Connecticut, but could go to Providence, Rhode Island from time to time, where there were two good bookstores, the better one one had no occult section because it was Communist, the other is where i go the paperback of the Hag when i was 12.

    Shortly afterwards, i noticed a small classified ad in the back on the New York Times Sunday Book Review section for Weisers. I got their catalog and started spending a lot on AC material. I recall another mail-order occult bookstore called maybe Mason Books that also ran an ad in the NYT, but they weren’t nearly as good as Weiser. I started going to the City regularly by 15 or so, and always went to Weisers when i did.

    I had been working in a hippie/science fiction/comix bookstore in Willimantic, Connecticut since i turned 14 and was legal to work. About a month after i turned 14, the owners, who were two brothers, approached me and made me an offer: “Would you consider not stealing from us any more if we gave you a job, and a discount on books?” I accepted and never stole from them again, and was very good at catching shoplifters. That job turned me on to so much stuff- i bought my first record i ever payed for with my own money there, John Lee Hooker Live at the Cafe AGoGo, still one of the greatest records ever made in my opinion 45 years later. The two brothers later went on to each found a small publishing company, one doing reprints of vintage science fiction, the other doing reprints of 19th century anarchist books.

    I was supposed to go out on the highway and flag down the bus for the 20 minute trip to work, but rapidly realized putting out my thumb and hitchhiking was faster, and of course cheaper.

    Or at least it appeared to be cheaper: in line with that old bumper sticker “Ass, Gas, or Grass- No One Rides For Free!”, many grown men thought i should pay for my ride by having sex with them. The first one is a vivid memory- within minutes of picking me up, dude hands me a deck of naked ladies playing cards, and starts masturbating with one hand and puts the other on my thigh, while driving with his knees. I told him i had to get out at a house that was coming up, and mentioned that it was the house of our local state cop. After that, i started carrying an old WW I bayonet of my grandad’s when i hitched, and had to pull it on many wanking adult men. I soon realized a ride with a pervert was better than no ride, and so i’d pull the knife and make them put the equipment away, and keep driving me to work.

    Kids today have no idea how hard it was to even find any information on any non-mainstream subject in the 1970s, especially if you lived in a very small town with more cows than people. In addition to what i could get by mail, and convince my bosses at the bookstore to order, I also read all the Crowley and Golden Dawn related books at the University of Connecticut library (my dad taught there). The one that made the biggest impression was The Book of Lies.

    From reading The Blue Equinox and TBOL, I had figured out the OTO IX “secret” a couple years before i started having sex at 16. I lost my virginity on a gravestone in a desolate New England graveyard in the middle of the woods- “Holy H.P. Lovecraft, Batman!”. Various LSD-fueled efforts at sex magick followed shortly.

    Probably if i drink a beer or two, i will be able remember more. i will test this hypothesis, and report back if it works.

    • This reply was modified 8 months, 2 weeks ago by  ignant666. Reason: typos


    My Mom used to take me into New York City at least twice year from Providence in the late 70’s .

    The only Commie anarchist book store i knew of was on a second floor and short lived . Pyramid books was also short lived but they may have moved to Salem .

    I went to Pratt for two years in the early 80’s around the garbage strike year when the garbage bags were piled unlike walls along the street .
    Back then the only bookstores I found (I went to many ) was the one in the basement of the 666 building which had Magick in Theory and Practice and The Complete Golden Dawn System of Magic and the Zen book store that had Serpent Power .

    Later I discovered Samuel Weiser and Magickal Childe which were in Manhattan .

    It wish there was a documentary on the NewYork Hardcore Punk scene .



    You are definitely remembering the same second floor Commie bookstore in Providence I am: Dorrwarr Books- i recall it being there from about 72 on, no idea when it closed. Stayed open long enough i made a Sex Pistols style shirt out of two of their silk Soviet scarves, one with Marx, one with Lenin. The one where i bought the Confessions was on Thayer Street in the next block from Dorrwarr, in the place where the Brown bookstore is now.

    My younger brother did a dual degree at Brown and RISD in the early 80s and was in a punk band called Coat of Arms, they used to play with bands like Collision Service, Dig Dat Hole (later Cop Shoot Cop), and Idle Rich at places like Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel. He was also in Pussy Galore when it was a Brown/RISD band.

    There is an NYHC documentary (imaginatively titled NYHC), but it mostly focuses on the late 80s/90s “youth crew” stuff, which i never dug, and which led to me going to way fewer shows. There is also a pretty good book, also called NYHC, but it too tends to treat the whole scene as if it was all designed teleologically to lead to Judge and Shelter etc, which are barely even NY bands.

    I highly recommend Harley Flanagan’s book Hardcore: A life of my own. i’ve known him since he was 12, and can vouch for the truthfulness of many many stories in his book. My favorite, which i had totally forgotten til i read Harley;s book, is where this skinhead dude Bags from SF bit off a kid’s ear at the CBGB hardcore matinee all-ages show. Bags had a helpful informational tattoo on his chest that said “I EAT PUSSY”. it did not mention ears, however.


    david asked in another thread how it was i got kicked out of so many schools, and if it was because i hated teachers. i replied that i quite liked many of my teachers, which was true. Usually in the ones who taught English and Art were the ones i got on with best, because those were things i actually cared about.

    How i got thrown out of high school: i was a “day student” at a snobby Episcopalian prep school (for UK readers, this is sort of like an English “public school” –this is their model anyway) in the next town over. The school had a reputation as a hippie/druggie school that they were very anxious to shake- they had just expelled a Kennedy the year before i started there.

    i was in a pretty big role in the 30s anti-war play “Bury the Dead” (another person in this story was also in the play, but i can’t for the life of me recall who). The play went very well at the first performance (maybe the only one, can’t recall).

    i was in my friend’s dorm room, with another pal who lived on the same floor, and another day student. i was sitting facing into a closet rolling up a bunch of joints to go smoke in the woods. Two of the other kids were fencing with foils, and being very loud. The room was next door to the dorm master’s apartment. He walked in to yell at them for making so much noise and i didn’t hide the weed fast enough.

    i mentioned in the football thread that i used to play. The dorm master was also the soccer/football coach for three of us, and hated us as much as we hated him. He would often make us run punishment laps after practice.

    i had instituted the custom of singing “God Save The Queen” during punishment laps to annoy him since he was both English and gay. All Americans know the tune since it is known in the US as “America The Beautiful”, and i looked up the words and taught it to them.

    He made it his business to get me expelled, along with the other day student. The two boarding students, perhaps coincidentally both from much richer families than ours, did not get expelled.

    How i got thrown out of college the first time: i was a student at a small, artsy college in a small Massachusetts town. The college specialized in taking bright kids out of high school and putting them in college, without finishing high school or getting a diploma first. It was about 1976. i had long hair, like virtually every other male in the school. There was a certain “uniform”- long hair, jeans, Frye boots with thick soles and stacked heels, a heavy leather belt, and, key to the story that follows, a Buck knife in a sheath on the belt. We called ourselves “freeks”, not hippies- hippies were old people.

    Anyway, my pal and i were on one of the women’s floors of our dorm (which alternated floors by gender), hanging out in the communal bathroom flirting with two girls that were taking showers.

    The form the flirtation took (had i mentioned we were all tripping hard?) was me and my pal, with our knives out, telling the girls we were going to slice their throats and hang them upsidedown to bleed out in the shower stalls- some sort of Manson fantasy. The girls thought this was very funny, as we did, and we were all laughing our asses off.

    Then, a person we didn’t know well, and her boy friend came up the stairs into the hall by the bathroom, overheard us, saw the knives and freaked out. The boyfriend pulled his Buck knife, and charged us, obviously intent on doing harm. We ran up the hall and locked ourselves into another girl’s room and did bong hits with her and thought no more of the incident.

    That is, until the next day, when we were summoned to the College Judicial Committee to offer any defense we might have for having threatened to murder the girl who came up the stairs, in retaliation for her having told said Judicial Committee about my LSD-dealing empire.

    i was pretty sure i had no LSD-dealing empire, since i was also pretty sure i was only selling weed at the time. However, the school was in the middle of a moral panic about the admittedly rampant acid use on campus, especially since a girl had recently had to be taken to the rubber room after flipping out while tripping. i knew she’d brought the acid from home, and hadn’t bought it from the main campus dealer, who was a pal, but was neither of us involved in the incident.

    Obviously, i had no idea she had ratted me out as the campus acid king, since this was purely her delusion, and therefor had little motive to threaten her

    We decided to pursue a surrealist defense strategy, and argued we had had no knives, but rather a shampoo bottle and a corkscrew, and had used theatre techniques to convince others we had knives. This strategy was not a success.

    How i got thrown out of college the second time: i was a student at a small, artsy college in a small Vermont town. It was about 1979. i had very short hair, unlike virtually every other male in the school.

    Within a month, i had started a punk rock band with my roommate and some other guys. My band became good friends with two guys from a semi-pro heavy metal band who lived upstairs from the room me and my guitar player shared.

    We played several shows, and generally became known for causing trouble. When the hippie dorm would have parties, we would raid them and steal their weed and beer.

    One night, we were all getting drunk in our pals “the Hippies’” room- we called them “the Hippies” because they had long hair (being metal guys) but hated hippies as much as us, so it annoyed them. There had been some earlier friction with student dorm bosses over an incident involving us fighting with an ironing board and some other large noisy object- a floorlamp maybe?

    Billy Hippie opened his desk drawer to get something out. My bassplayer let out a scream, grabbed something out of the drawer, ran out of the room and disappeared for the night.

    Shortly after this, Campus Security, in the form of an old guy that used to come around our rehearsal room in the basement of the music building and bum beers off us, came and very apologetically told me he had been assigned to escort me to my room and make sure i didn’t leave, and that i had an appointment with the Dean first thing in the morning.

    It turned out that my bassplayer had grabbed a smokebomb out of Billie Hippie’s drawer, run upstairs to throw it (lit of course) into the student dorm leader’s room in retaliation for her yelling at us earlier. They didn’t see who did it, but he said she was having sex with her girlfriend at the time.

    i probably could have beaten the smokebomb rap, since everyone swore it wasn’t me who did it, and the girls hadn’t seen the thrower. Unfortunately, i upped the ante by posting flyers around town advertising a party with “LIVE BAND! FREE BEER- ALL YOU CAN DRINK!”, giving the location as her room.

    So i finally (age 19) moved to NYC. i’d known since i was a kid i would.

    i had no high-school diploma, and a few college credits. i got a job in the mailroom of a big law firm, and moved into a cheap “Single Room Occupancy” residential hotel in Times Square, where i was the only resident under 65, unless Tom Waits was in town for a show and staying there.

    Many years later, in the first week of law school, when everyone was in “Where do you do your undergrad?” mode, everyone was telling me i had to meet another person who had also gone to that same small Vermont college. i thought the name seemed familiar.

    It was, of course, the student dorm leader, now looking super-corporate in a blue Anne Taylor suit, white stockings, and pearl necklace, and all that stuff about dating women in college part of a buried past (the phrase in US liberal arts colleges is “L.U.G.” (“lesbian until graduation”)).

    She was clearly terrified of being “outed” and i just smiled and said “Wow, it’s been a while, huh?”

    • This reply was modified 8 months, 2 weeks ago by  ignant666. Reason: add
    • This reply was modified 8 months, 2 weeks ago by  ignant666. Reason: more
    • This reply was modified 8 months, 2 weeks ago by  ignant666. Reason: add answer to david's question


    wow ignant666 what a trip what a show

    i think you probably meant 92 not 72
    but the book store i was thinking of was by RISD down the hill .

    I used to hang out by the keg at parties with a guy who claimed he was in a band called Pussy Galore but they never seemed to play out . I used to tell him his band was going to be famous with a name like that .

    An agent named the Pied Piper used to bring all the underground shows in .
    Back in those days i was in Bands called Sex Magic , FVK – Fearless Vampire Killers, Rude Boy Posse .
    I believe Coat of Arms had a reunion gig about a year ago .

    So what happened with you and the creeps at the c O.T.O. ?
    Did you go to the Tahuti Lodge ?



    Sheesh with degree from Brown and RISD they couldn’t find some marketer to label “must be 18andover” and sell it at the five and dime stores ?
    Well i guess it wasn’t about the buck .
    It was the Underground .
    The goods came in to the ports and you didn’t have to pay the police . When the Politician in NewYork sold, to get a vote , that the city was being cleaned ; Cats from New York would come make the trip,
    and venture to the Lovecraft hood.



    I hadnt seen New York since 1985 but after my old man (Uncle Larry) died in 2002 at the age of 82 i finally got around to taking his ashes back to New York City in late 2003.

    I flew in and slept on a cousins couch in Flatbush Brooklyn and we went to a local bar every day full of retired cops and firefighters telling 9-11 stories. I couldn’t spend $20 drinking over an entire night at the bar…and when I returned the next night after my first night drinking they said i left my change on the bar and gave me back some money. I couldnt believe it.

    We put Larrys ashes behind the bar and a shot of whiskey on top and we’d toast him and do shots. Everyone bought drinks for everyone all the time and the drinks were cheap too. Theyd give you a coaster every time someone bought u a drink and if you were chatting people up u’d end up with 9 coasters piled up and $18 in change from your $20 bill and you just couldn’t keep up.

    Being from Los Angeles I was always impressed by the friendliness and generosity of New Yorkers and Brooklynites. I never knew it was a thing in New York but I remember in 1984-85 it was always the 3rd or 4th drink the bartender would tap the bar as a signal that the drink was comped.

    Uncle Larry always said he didn’t want a funeral (was he afraid what people would say?) but he died 2 weeks before his 83rd birthday in 2002 and as his executor and heir i threw him an 83rd birthday party/memorial where everyone drank and told stories at his last apartment in Los Angeles.

    He wanted to be cremated. I asked him what he wanted me to do with the ashes? He said in his gravelly voice “flush me down some shithouse toilet.”

    So that is exactly what I did. I threw some ashes in central park, hudson river, brooklyn streets, and flushed him down toilets in bars around brooklyn and hells kitchen (by now called chealsea and not looking very hellish.)

    Larry was a New Yorker at heart and spent many years down and out in New York City after his career tanked due to drinking and fighting.

    from Brooklyn newspaper:

    From the New York Post in January 1973: “DILLINGER” STAR IS STABBED. In a street row outside a bar on Ninth Avenue near the second-rate hotel where he had a room, the actor Lawrence Tierney required surgery for a ‘serious stab wound’ in the abdomen.”

    The following June there was this stark news report: “Former movie actor Lawrence Tierney was questioned and then released by police in connection with the apparent suicide leap of a 24-year-old woman from the fourth floor window of a midtown apartment.” Tierney told police that he had come to visit the woman, Bonnie Jones, and “had just gotten there, and she just went out the window.”

    Publicity stunts? Far from it. Lawrence Tierney’s escapades were constantly in the newspapers and tabloids during his days as a Hollywood actor, beginning with his starring role in Dillinger (1945). He was often good copy for newspapers on a light news day.

    Lawrence Tierney Jr., was born in Brooklyn on March 15, 1919. His father was chief of New York’s aqueduct police force.

    I wish i’d spent more time there. I do plan to go back as I get my shyte together. Great city even today, the people havent changed that much although the “city” doesnt look the same. I just looked up 7th st and 7th ave (where i stayed in brooklyn) on google maps and it looks exactly the same as it did in 1984-85.



    Great stories Travis.

    @ignant66 said:

    in line with that old bumper sticker “Ass, Gas, or Grass- No One Rides For Free!”, many grown men thought i should pay for my ride by having sex with them.

    At about age 17 I started getting bored with Playboy and Hustler magazine and decided to check out the adult bookstores where i lived at the time in Garden Grove California, a sleazy town close to Disneyland full of bikers and serial killers not yet incarcerated. It was VERY sleazy in the early 80s. Much to my dismay there were fags in these places lol! (Excuse my French please.) It was not so bad in Garden Grove..(only a few…much worse in Hollywood) but this was before VCRs were common and I had to see what this porn movie thing was all about…there was no other way to view these films They had small booths with doors and locks with mutli-channells of all the latest 70s and 80s porn where I could entertain myself with self-abuse (providing I had enough quarters to keep the machine going.) The propositions were shocking at first (I learned to say no nicely but was always a little scared) and usually the come-ons in areas like garden grove came from some mean looking biker mofo’s not your average gay stereotype. In Hollywood it was much worse. I was about 19 by then and no less than 7 guys would follow me around the bookstore so I finally got a fkn VCR lmao. I couldn’t help but think “why don’t they suck each others dicks??”

    While in New York in 1984 i was originally staying in Brooklyn Heights on Remsen st and when my uncles drinking and temper would flare up id take the train to times square and sit in the McDonald’s all night it was quite a scene. Times Square was at the height of its sex shop and sex theater stage in the 1980s but i never went into any of these shops it was a little too scary and hardcore for me at the time but I did hang out at McDonald’s a few times all night drinking coffee and watching people.

    i bought my first record i ever payed for with my own money there, John Lee Hooker Live at the Cafe AGoGo, still one of the greatest records ever made in my opinion 45 years later.

    I couldn’t find this on youtube but one of my favorite tunes of his is Hobo Blues:



    How i got into hardcore:

    I was a “’77 punk”, into Ramones, Heartbreakers, Dictators, Sex Pistols, Clash, X-Ray Spex, Subway Sect, Sham 69, etc. etc. etc.etc., having earlier evolved from liking hard “jump blues” (like John Lee Hooker) and glam (Bowie, Roxy, Mott, Suzi Quatro, Sweet) as a young teenager to pre-punk like NY Dolls and Modern Lovers when i was 16-17 or so (1975-6).

    After “turning rebellion into money” (Clash lyric) became an inescapable fact by 1979, i was in heavy backlash mode, listening to black dance music (Parliament/Funkadelic (i was turned onto them by two black girls at the college i got thrown out of for the knife incident; thank you LeShaan and Tanya), James Brown, Isleys, Jimmy Castor Bunch), and arty post-punk (Wire, The Fall, Bush Tetras, Swell Maps).

    My typical outfit around this time would be: shaved head, heavy black eye liner, thrift-shop ’60s suit, shirt and tie, heavy paratrooper boots the kid i got thrown out of prep school with got for me at the PX after he joined the National Guard (all those teenage hours wandering in the woods tripping with our .22s paid of with two Marksmanship badges for him).

    For some reason the very elderly ultra-WASP and apparently non-gay senior partner at the elite lawfirm where i worked in the mailroom took a liking to me despite my get-up, and i would sit in his office for hours talking to him and not handing out the mail, but no one could say anything about it since he was the lead name partner.

    Anyway, from time to time i would go to shows where hardcore bands played, and would generally get into fights. i thought hardcore was a stupid imitation of real punk, and what was wrong with these kids not to realize that punk had failed? Why had they not lapsed into a sensible numb cynicism as i had?

    I went to a show with the bassplayer who threw the smokebomb, and beat up this dude; i think i already told this story. To digress, i went sailing with the smokebomb-throwing bassplayer and his son, and the guitar player from that band, and one of my old academic disciples, and some other folks, yesterday, on his boat, and then had dinner at a very stuffy yacht-club where he’s a member. He became fabulously wealthy in real estate a few years after college, after a couple years living with me in the East Village and jumping the subway turnstile in his suit every morning to go to his commission-only real-estate job.

    After we beat up the singer from Antidote, the manager of The Young And The Useless, a guy who used to roadie for Ramones that we knew from roadie-ing for other bands that played with Ramones, hired us to work stage security at a gig on the 4th of July in this illegal loft club (with the bar on the freight elevator so they could move it to another floor if the cops came) that was supposed to get invaded by skinheads. We had shaved heads, liked to fight, and were bigger and older than most NYC skins at the time (average age 15-6). Our job was to stand with baseball bats on each side of the stage and whack anyone who got out of line. The show went well, the skinhead kids showed up, but were cool and just moshed, a good time was had by all. The show was in the afternoon because many kids could not go out at night because they were so young.

    I wandered up from Houston Street to East Third, where the Hell’s Angels were having their annual 4th of July block party. The ends of the block were barricaded off, there were kegs everywhere, drunk bikers, drunk people from the block, kids running around with squirtguns, barbecue grills going, and two Angels periodically throwing M-80s (very powerful firecrackers) into a dumpster (skip for UK readers) in the middle of the block. It looked like a cool party. i got a beer from one of the kegs and just stood there surveying the madness. Before i drank more than a quarter of the cup of beer, an Angel came up and said what’s up. He asked if i lived on the block, and when i said i lived on Eleventh, he said “Maybe you should leave before you get hurt”, and generously added “You can take the beer.”

    I wandered up to the Ukrainian old-man bar on Seventh where we liked to hang out (i once saw a elderly Russian have to pull a snubnose revolver to leave there intact after some Ukrainian old dudes became aware he was Russian). An old guy i never saw before or since, definitely not a regular, began buying me drinks and asking me questions, before offering me a steady job as a hitman at $2000 a killing. He told me he liked to see a nice young fella get ahead, and that it was the opportunity of a lifetime. Didn’t work out.

    Anyway, as a result of actually meeting a lot of the hardcore kids at the show we were doing security at, i became close friends with many of them, and started going to their shows.

    Kind of a “Mr. Rogers Neighborhood”/”After-School Special” feel-good story really.

    • This reply was modified 8 months, 2 weeks ago by  ignant666. Reason: fixing many typos
    • This reply was modified 8 months, 2 weeks ago by  ignant666. Reason: clarity of minor point


    In the mid-1970s, the City of New York almost went bankrupt.As a result, public services declined, crime rose, and the city was a mess.

    During this period, it became customary for young people to donate their artistic services to decorate and beautify drab surfaces throughout the city, including decorating the subway trains on which NYers ride everyday.

    Here is some of my work in this field, on an A train (the one Billie Strayhorn and Duke Ellington liked), about 1982-3 or so:


    • This reply was modified 8 months, 1 week ago by  ignant666.


    @ignant666 nice art work…and funny stories…im listening…the bar on the elevator is genius…and you’d have a made a great hitman…probably lonely work though…my old man told me a lot of stories about bars in New York…im not surprised a lot of people got killed in those days…i saw a doco that basically told how hiphop helped gangs make peace…i read Westies a great book a few years back and New York was brutal in 70s-80s.

    My old man Larry told me a story that he was drinking with friends and getting rowdy in a NYC bar and the bartender pulled a gun out and waved it around to warn everyone to be cool. My old man watched him closely after that and when he went to the kitchen Larry jumped over the bar and grabbed the gun. He said he was just gonna show it to the guy and ask how tough he felt now? When the bartender saw that he had the gun he ran out the bar and up the street fast as he could.

    Guns, baseball bats, i stay away from all that. I had a few fist fights and bar fights in LA and was very lucky for the most part. A few scars but thats it.



    what is a 77 punk ?

    I was 15 so that was hmmm 81 I am an a̶n̶t̶i̶c̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶ anarchist I know what I want and I know how to get it
    13 piercings, shaved head, bad attitude, fun times, good drugs, what a trip sid vicious my dads name but he is the hart in the serpent not vicious

    yes yes.. two dads two mums

    dam I mad



    mayet: A “77” punk as in i liked the 1977 bands, like the ones i listed: Ramones, Heartbreakers, Dictators, Sex Pistols, Clash, X-Ray Spex, Subway Sect, Sham 69, and other bands that started playing during the first big wave of punk bands (some of those had their first album out a bit before 1977, some not til 1978). Very fashion oriented, and got commercialized fast.

    As opposed to the hardcore punk (early 1980s-present) that i am telling the story of getting into, and also as opposed to emo punk (mid 1980s-present), crust/D-beat (late 1980s-present), folk punk (2010 or so-present), and a million other sub-variations and styles of punk rock.

    Hardcore took the hardest sounding parts of ’77 punk, and played them “faster and louder” (title of a song by NYC’s The Stimulators, a band that bridged the 77 and hardcore sounds). It was at first a very American form of punk that developed in LA, NYC, and DC pretty much simultaneously about 1980-81, and had spread everywhere in the US as an underground scene by about 1984. There were Brazilian and Finnish and UK hardcore bands shortly after that, and it was in every country by the 1990s.

    Associated with slamdancing (aka moshing), violence/localism (NYC and Boston were enemies in hardcore as in baseball, whereas both Boston and NYC were cool with DC), very short hair/shaved head, wearing athletic/work/military clothing and generally super anti-fashion attitude, and “DIY” (“do it yourself”) practices (playing music (obviously), self-publishing fanzines, putting on shows anywhere that would have us, making tshirts and stickers, making records, distributing records- all took place within our “own thing” (as the Italians used to put it)).

    The “straight edge” anti-drugs/alcohol/promiscuity movement (“i don’t smoke, i don’t drink, i don’t fuck/At least i can fucking think”, from “Out Of Step” by DC band who invented the idea, Minor Threat) is an important subset of hardcore, especially in DC and Boston, but was never popular in NYC until much later. We took all the drugs we could get our hands on, and had as much sex as possible (in each case, a lot).

    Since i was a bit unclear, the story about the Fourth of July took place in 1981 as best i can recall.

    • This reply was modified 8 months, 1 week ago by  ignant666.
    • This reply was modified 8 months, 1 week ago by  ignant666.
    • This reply was modified 8 months, 1 week ago by  ignant666.


    I didn’t like the music other than the one quoted above. listened to them all but hurt my ears so i decided was a good time to step over the track into the world of crime…. decided I didn’t like that either being locked up and all good for a quite time and learning more about others… geb bought his coach to visit one Saturnsday and took the whole place out for the day for a drive around sydney.. screws included… try blocking my weekend leave next time asses I will still get my weekend and family time… ooh that when I got the 666 album o the hills, run for your lives the key turner censors let it though …turned sweet 16 a class 1 crime max security and prior of uncontrollable looking up for a brilliant life of cells and keys and locks.. wait that is my life ..clean record since 18 no crime other than seatbelt refusal and the usual speeding parking things ..hey i like going fast and I hate seatbelts deadly on the neck just ask leo Jovis et Junonis Sidus

    ps it wasn’t theft I asked him for the money tony’s 22 had nothing to do with it… tony just carried it just in case there was mice around ….9 months later she gave a grunt thought i had better try normal got a job at a kebab shop lovely lil man wanted to rape me.. tried hard I said no he’s lucky Im tiny and couldnt reach the knife to chop his wee round bits off and eat them – coal mountain oysters … put in a complaint to human rights commission first to test legislation and win hence Boyle v Ozden 1985 EOC 92–165 is quoted and referenced by the act itself and law peoples all over — not #metoo was #justme so you all could have your #metoo 1985 good years the years of the big bands jethro tull sent me to sleep – I learned you do not smoke hash before listening to flutes deep purple original lineup george harrison on stage in front of me jamming with ritchie blackmore <— magic sweet child in time – smoke on the water fire in the sky listening to aldo nova rainbow floyd floyd and more floyd loved the music of that time it had harmony and it was melody

    Straight Between the Eyes - tearin out my heart

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