plagerized from my other blog.
I fucking love communism. I've always loved it.
It all started in 8th grade. We were required to do a book report each marking period, this was the first marking period. It was fall and the Alternative fad was in full swing. A young Clare Daines wooed us on her one hour dramady, "my so called life," I had just died my hair for the first time and started smoking, both weed and cigarettes (camel lights), and the world was grey and orange with the dances of fall.
So at the library I'm looking around for a book, wearing a, "junior high school's such a fucking drag" look on my boyish face, and what do I see in the biography section?
A yellow book with orange lettering down the side reading "HO." Exited I pulled the book out, and on the cover those hillarious words again, "HO" and below the title an old, wise-looking, vietnamese man with a scraggly fu man chu and eyes that watered with the burden of French colonial rule.
(If you don't know who this is yet, it was Ho Chi Min. The communist ruler of North Vietnam.)
I read this book cover to cover twice durring the marking period and when it was my turn for the book report retold the book, nearly verbatim, for a good thirty to thirty-five minutes. (my report was supposed to be between 3 and five minutes) The teacher repeatedly tried to stop my but I had a love in my heart for my comrades to the east, and a hatred for Nixon, LBJ, and any one else who stood for capitalistm and the American way.
I was given a D for going over time and stirring communist propoganda.
The next semester I read Douglas Coupland's, "Poloroids from the Dead." It was good too.
My point is that Junior High was a fucking drag and that I'm glad I smoked cigarettes and roaches of shwag between first hour and second hour on my way back from chorus, sometimes in the dug out.
This experience also got me, inderectly, into the LA based punk band Rice
It all started in 8th grade. We were required to do a book report each marking period, this was the first marking period. It was fall and the Alternative fad was in full swing. A young Clare Daines wooed us on her one hour dramady, "my so called life," I had just died my hair for the first time and started smoking, both weed and cigarettes (camel lights), and the world was grey and orange with the dances of fall.
So at the library I'm looking around for a book, wearing a, "junior high school's such a fucking drag" look on my boyish face, and what do I see in the biography section?
A yellow book with orange lettering down the side reading "HO." Exited I pulled the book out, and on the cover those hillarious words again, "HO" and below the title an old, wise-looking, vietnamese man with a scraggly fu man chu and eyes that watered with the burden of French colonial rule.
(If you don't know who this is yet, it was Ho Chi Min. The communist ruler of North Vietnam.)
I read this book cover to cover twice durring the marking period and when it was my turn for the book report retold the book, nearly verbatim, for a good thirty to thirty-five minutes. (my report was supposed to be between 3 and five minutes) The teacher repeatedly tried to stop my but I had a love in my heart for my comrades to the east, and a hatred for Nixon, LBJ, and any one else who stood for capitalistm and the American way.
I was given a D for going over time and stirring communist propoganda.
The next semester I read Douglas Coupland's, "Poloroids from the Dead." It was good too.
My point is that Junior High was a fucking drag and that I'm glad I smoked cigarettes and roaches of shwag between first hour and second hour on my way back from chorus, sometimes in the dug out.
This experience also got me, inderectly, into the LA based punk band Rice