Welcome to the few and far between, those who took it upon themselves to pull up this new section of my column. I am a person who likes to rant. I generally rant about things that are directly effecting my life, but that hasn't stopped me from going off about other things as well. I was browsing through good 'ol Punks G this morning, especially the column section. I discovered that most of the columns are actually that - columns, rants, personal stories, etc. my column is a little different. I enjoy writing poetry, although I never claimed to be anything more than mediocre at it. Free Verse is my style - the style which inspired the name of the second zine that I ever wrote for. The times of Free Verse are long passed. However, last semester I was enrolled in a poetry writing class, keeping in the spirit of Free Verse, even though I learned other forms of poetry writing. I have passed along several poems to Simon, he needs only to post them…most of my work is short, but there's nothing wrong with short poetry. In fact, I prefer short poems because my attention span for something so deep is not that long.

Anyway, here is a little something to get the feathers ruffled around the old web site. As I was reading my fellow columnist's work, I also noticed that a large portion, if not every single other writer is straight edge or vegan, or something of the sort. My friend and roommate Simon King is straight edge, but not vegan. Corey Musolff is not straight edge, but refuses alcohol or drugs of any kind. This group of people make up the core of my friendship with people here on earth. Here is where the feather ruffling starts. I, however am not straight edge, and never could be. This is why.

I do not like to party. I do not like sweaty shows with no seats, punk or otherwise…not that you'll never find me at one, though. I like meat. I was a butcher for three years, for God's sake. I don't believe in pre-marital sex - this is perhaps my only common bond with certain straight edge people. I enjoy the occasional clove cigarette or cigar. I like to smoke a pipe on sunny days. I don't smoke pot, shoot heroin, or do any other hard drug. Never have, never will. I do like alcohol. I like attending large bonfires on cool autumn evenings and doing shots with friends. I like to listen to the sound of an acoustical guitar playing old folk, country, rock and blues songs. I like music. Doesn't really matter what kind. Most importantly though. I love my straight edge friends. I believe that they love me. I know that since they are my friends, they do worry about me, but have the general knowledge that I do what I want to, when I want to, and they can't change that.

I don't appreciate being told what to do or think by anyone. If common (socialized public) sense didn't get in the way, I would consider myself an anarchist. But I'm too lazy and hypocritical to actually perform the required steps to bring anarchism to the general public. I'd get killed immediately, anyway. Right now, you're probably asking yourself as a reader what right a person like myself has subjecting columns such as these to a "punk" web site. Keep in mind that the graphic upon entering punks g is just that. No mention of "straight edged-ness." Underneath the graphic, a statement of something to the affect of "a hybrid of different opinions." That is exactly what this rant is. Merely a different opinion. On the other side of the spectrum, there are a group of people who are totally opposite from the views of the straight edge. They are a local group known as the P.R.I.'s.

The P.R.I.'s (Punk Rock Individuals) piss me the fuck off. Let's examine the name. Punk Rock Individuals…these folks live in a group house on a street called Davis. Notice the hypocrisy of the two words in boldface type. Now, I will be the first and most proud to admit that I am a hypocrite. A huge hypocrite. Literally. I am 6 foot 4. But these children are in denial. A collection of individual punk listeners who exist in a group house, (FRAT?!?!?), and spend a large portion of their time initiating those who occasionally drop by, (FRAT?!?!?), and chugging 40 ounce bottles of cheap beer while smoking shitty pot. It's not good unless it smells like feet, guys. I was first introduced to the P.R.I.'s by my good friend, Micah. This was in August of 1996. These original bastards were adorning baggy pants and tight white tank tops, while skateboarding shittily off of the landscaping at Western Michigan University. They performed some third-grade-club-type handshake with Micah, and proclaimed that he was invited to "The House" anytime he need to get hammered or just spend some quality time with wild and crazy guys. I was unimpressed not only upon sight, ( I try really, really hard, although I make no promises, to judge upon contact), but upon hearing them vocally. It was a hot day, so maybe I was merely suffering from some sort of sun-stroke. These events occurred on main campus, and as Micah and I made our way back to the valley, Micah was a-chatter about his new found friends. The two of us were new in Kalamazoo, and at least a little eager to meet people, so I really wasn't too upset - yet.

Most of Micah's new friends were already friends of his sister, Helen, who is a junior this year, and has lived in or around campus for approx. two years. Helen is a nice person, although I don't know her too well, so Micah figured that any friend of his sisters could be a friend of his. Upon returning to the dorms, there was a message on our answering machine from, apparently, a P.R.I. No name was given, just a short message saying something like,

"Hey, asshole - yeah, you Micah. Where the fuck are you? Why aren't you in the fucking room, cocksucker? Come over to the fucking house tonight if you want. Asshole. Nice fucking music."

The last line of that intelligent display of profanity was indirectly directed at yours truly. You see, the answering machine message was made by me, using background music by my personal icon, hero, idol, god - John Prine. Prine is a folk singer from the seventies whom I follow and listen to devotedly. Ask anyone who has ever met me, and they will have heard the words "John Prine" come out of my mouth. I still remember what song was on the machine. It was nothing to be considered or offensive, or to return a message stating that one was offended. The vocal was done by myself, with Micah standing in the background saying nothing. A traditional goofy-yet-personal answering machine message.

Micah could tell that I was immediately offended, (this is being polite as to how I actually felt), and he was mildly disturbed. After about 30 seconds, after listening to the tape repeatedly, Micah actually giggled at the message. Inside I was imploding, exploding, eroding, corroding, and reloading.

The next day, classes still hadn't started yet, so Micah and I went onto campus to make absolutely sure we knew where we had to go the next day. And who but the Punk Rock Individuals would be encircling center campus on low-rider bicycles sporting too-well-known Japanimation pink backpacks. I was taken aback by the goofy sight. Punk Rock and socially unaccepted misfit girls stood drooling, and non-P.R.I. freshmen boy's eyes glistened at the miraculous sight. Micah was one of them. I could do nothing more than light a cigar and shake my head.

I told Micah that I'd catch up with him later, after the P.R.I's asked him to come over to chit-chat. I could feel the unacceptance in the air, as I gumped away, sporting a traditional stupid hat, gumpy clothing and my cane. I frequently carry a cane, as I am not handicapped, but study a Korean martial art known as Ji Pang E. In English, Ji Pang E means cane fighting. The certain jeers didn't phase me, as I have been jeered at before. I just walked away.

That's what I have been doing from social groups before, during and since then. I hate to classify myself, because I am unclassifiable. An update on Micah's participation with the P.R.I.'s is this…during Christmas break, he was "initiated" by spanking. He is an honorary P.R.I. now. Not that I love him any less, though. Micah is still a good friend. Simon and I were thinking of taking an add out in the "Greek" section of the school newspaper welcoming "Brother Micah" to "Pi Ro Iota."

So, in closing, I don't feel that I've gotten that much accomplished by venting all of this, but I do feel better. I just wanted to let everyone know how I felt on certain issues. If you agree, disagree or hate me because of what I wrote, you have the right. If you feel that you need a better explanation of the content of this rant, feel free to email me. A link is most likely around this article somewhere. I will not blow you off - trust me, and unclassifiable bastard. Thanks for reading my stuff, and thanks to Simon for the space on his site.

Brian Frain

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