"They hate you coz you're guilty"

This is an artistic representation of what I witnessed on Saturday. Ted Leo performed the song "The Ballad of the Sin Father" olde time religion style, passionately and oratorically. The song was fucking awesome and most importantly, right where I write "hits himself in the head three times with the microphone until he bled down his face", that's what he motherfuckin' punk rock did:

"I spent a night in Kigali, in a five diamond hotel, where maybe someday, they'll do the Watusi down in Hutu hell.

I fell in with a merchant marine who promised to take me home, but when I woke up beaten and bloodied, I couldn't tell if it was Jersey or Sierra Leone!

[hits himself in the head three times with the microphone until he bled down his face]

And you didn't think they could hate you, now did you? You didn't think they could hate you, now did you? You didn't think they could have you, now did you? Ah, but they hate you, and they hate you coz you're guilty...

And the knocking in my head, just like the knocking at my door. Maybe it was me or maybe it was my brother, but either me or me and him went down to the bar, where I got seven powers in me for to give me the cure, but when seven powers failed to spin me, I had to get me seven more.

And when I say, "me" I mean my brain. And when I say "give me the cure" I mean to kill the pain. And when I say "kill the pain" I meant to get the devil out. And when I say "devil" I mean the manifestation of doubt!"

I responded to his spastic oration, his skinny mania, and most importantly: his palpable self hatred. Because I'm guilty.

The air conditioning's on, I have a car, I fill that car with gas; I am not in Armenia, I am not facing down a tank, the water is hot or cold as I will it shall be. The guilt is oppressive. Take that microphone and smash it into my head, Ted Leo! Wait.

When Little Sister was deciding whether or not to abort the cats, she kept coming back to how bad she felt. And it was a realization for me: because I feel bad about things all the time, and that's the thread that ties us all together, as humans: we should be feeling bad. Sad things are happening and people we love are in pain and people we don't know, but hope that would would love, are in pain. The avoidance of pain is ultimately paralyzing, and is why Hummers exist. And how dead on is that bit about "killing the manifestation of doubt"?! Zing. Pop. Punk rock!

The desire to cause oneself pain, in the idea that it will make things better for everyone, is bizarre and nonsensical. Except. When I was in Armenia, and deeply shook up, I went to an orphanage filled with ravaged children. It wasn't some Romanian hellhole. It was just what it was: bent and agonized children without enough love. I didn't want to see it, but once I had, I kept wanting to hurt myself, thinking that if I could, I could relieve the guilt and sadness--which I couldn't. And that's how I stumbled upon my own personal vision of the sacrifice of Christ. Total bummer, right? True story!

Anyhow. I just wanted to say that I keep thinking about that song and a bad war and hurt kids and my life and the sound of that microphone hitting that dude on the head. My manifestation of doubt picks, picks, picks things apart--and I wanted to say that it was theatrics, timed to music, impotent marketing, but it shook me up and made me wonder how many people struggle with weighing their pain against the pain of others.

Punk rock is nearly the greatest thing on Earth.