The title of this here post actually does a lot of the heavy lifting for me. So rather than try and gently segue into the point I’d ultimately like to make, I’ll put it right out there with a simple declarative statement and work from there:
I have come to the (harsh) realization that I can longer be considered punk rock in any way shape or form.
Oh sure, there are semblances remaining. I’ve fallen into the habit of wearing a mohawk every summer. I’m still littered with tattoos. And should you pass me in the street, whatever is pouring out of me headphones into the immediate space around my head will, more often than not, be loud and unmistakenable – the snarl of Hank Rollins (cool kids can call him “Hank”, don’t worry), Johnny Ramone’s driving guitar, Iggy and/or the Stooges, FUCKING FUGAZI.
But at the end of the day, when I look at myself in the mirror… gotta face facts. One must strive to be as honest with oneself as one is capable of being honest at all (I just made that up – go ahead, you can have that one for free). And honestly… I ain’t punk anymore.