Perfection

I have a problem with paying attention, especially in academic situations if the topic bores me.  When I get bored I either draw or write, and in this instance I wrote.  Not sure what inspired this, but I’ve been nostalgic for punk shows lately…

Perfection is only achieved on the point of collapse.

Punk shows

fighting in the pit

you run and you sing and you scream and you hit

slipping on beer, sweat, falling over other bodies

a knee to the temple, I see stars

you fall over me, we both hit the concrete floor

my nose starts to bleed, I can taste it

another guy, mohawk, no shirt

grabs you off me, pulls me up from the ground

wraps his arms around us both, and off we go

another circle, faster

knocking down other dancers

the sheer joy of it!

Pain and pleasure both blur together

I can’t stop laughing as the blood flows down my face

the joy is so much I hit a young kid in the head

he falls down so I grab him

and together we run

faster

faster

faster and harder

the song speeds up

the singer screams and spits

his loogie flies up and back, hits the guitarist

some kid jumps on the stage, and rocks the fuck out

jumps off before security can grab him

surfs across the crowd

I see someone steal his shoe and throw it at the band

the pit swirls grows larger harder faster

bodies and sweat and raw manic energy

this is the finale, this is the last song

we throw ourselves forward, spinning out of control

I’ve never felt such hate, such love

there isn’t anything except the moment

it’s perfect – right until collapse

The collapse.

We collapse.

It all falls down

the music stops

the feelings slip away

we can’t hold onto it

we can’t keep it going.

The feeling dies, the world turns back to shit

We slip out the back door and get drunk

but it never brings back the perfection of chaos.