Gonzo journalism is a style of journalism which is written subjectively, often including the reporter as part of the story via a first person narrative. The style tends to blend factual and fictional elements to emphasize an underlying message and engage the reader. The word Gonzo was first used in 1970 to describe an article by Hunter S. Thompson, who later popularized the style. The term has since been applied to other subjective artistic endeavors.
Gonzo journalism tends to favor style over accuracy and often uses personal experiences and emotions to provide context for the topic or event being covered. It disregards the 'polished' edited product favored by newspaper media and strives for the gritty factor. Use of quotations, sarcasm, humor, exaggeration, and even profanity is common. The use of Gonzo journalism suggests that journalism can be truthful without striving for objectivity and is loosely equivalent to an editorial.
if my younger self saw my older self he'd call him a sell out
I remember going to shows when I was fourteen. Waiting in the long line, smoking cigarettes and being overly paranoid that everyone knew I was stoned or that the cops were going to throw me in jail for lighting up a cigarette.
I got myself as deep as i could in the little but active Burbank Scene, where kids found any fucking place that would take em and trash it. Whether it was a back yard, a house, the cobalt, the CIA, the Vet's hall, The No Future, the Moose Lounge or your run of the mill battle of the bands, we somehow got there and fucked it up.
I'll never forget making my way into the sweaty drunken haze of metal heads and punks who were all in middle school or highschool. Different clicks and genres uniting for one sole purpose; under age drinking, mosh pits, breakdowns, solos and arpeggios.
There was something meaningful about letting loose at a show with all your buddies and feeling the bruises from the mosh pit for the whole next week. I remember coming home with bruises, gashes, a sore throat, my voice shot, drunk, stoned, confused and avoiding all eye contact or verbal exchange with my parents.Crawling into my classroom the next day staggering in pain. But instead of being pissed about it, i was happier than ever because for once i got to feel alive, to feel like i was apart of something i believed in.
The sea of sweaty bodies, the blown out amps, the horrible timing and mistakes of the bands, the strings breaking, the yelling and fighting. It's something every kid needs.Back then I was used to getting huge X's drawn on my hand by bored bouncers in thick black sharpie. This kept the ages segregated but allowed everyone to enjoy some tunes. It was a win win situation, the kids listen to the music, the adults drink the booze.I remember going into the bathroom and doing anything I could to remove the intimidating X. The only thing that really got all of it off was pure adrenaline sweat and punk rock.
This freedom just might become a thing of the past. Because of issues with violence and underage drinking, statutory rape and such, the future of all age venues could come to an end. Just a couple years ago Washington DC pressed to have legislation to make all age venues illegal in DC. Of course in stormed Ian McKaye to testify against it, do me a favor and try to ignore his pretentiousness when he starts talking about fugazi, he kinda makes a douche of himself.the rain clouds have parted and the sun has made it's way back to shun me
having a scratched cornea (drunkenly clawing out contacts 4 years ago) really sucks, it's been extra bad lately and my doctor told me not to wear contacts, so...im stuck wearing glasses so its a pain in the ass to wear sun glasses. sun glasses have been essential in my life, just as one needs food or cigarettes, so living without them has proven to be one hell of a bitch. i hate the sun.
anyway, heard through the grapevine my contract has been extended 6 months. I dont get it, they tell me they know I'm a piece of shit and want to fire me, then tell me they need me 6 more months. whatever, im grateful.
i can't expect anyone to like me, especially when i don't like them. i kind of get off on walking into a quiet office in the morning and turning black flag up real loud.
why is it that no matter how hard we try we often get pulled back to the place that we grew up. im being dragged back to shitty ass burbank. i'll be there in a month.
i've officially gotten a bus pass for the next couple months so i'm currently mobile, thats nice. can't wait to be riding buses and living in burbank...how the fuck did i get to this point in my life? i guess its time to load up on batteries and pull my dusty portable cd player out of it's grave.
here's something else from a while back
Loss Vegas ©
With the breaking of waves and coming of the tide, surfing in came a loose idea,So up in the sky, it didn’t take much to get them in flight, and off we went,
An end to the night but a beginning to the day, if only we could give these eyes some rest,
For miles and miles of road, we find our noses doing all the work, assholes and ashtrays,
Caged in this box of long woven legs and moccasins, olive carpet kept the toes warm,
The sun comes up as we flee from the top of a desert hill to the eater of human beings,
With Clapton’s at our side, we arrive at this chew-and-boot machine that these sad suckers all buy into,
A dreadful picture, kidnapping these delicate beauties and bringing them to this wretched gutter of a place, luring angels into styx,
Only to leave them high and dry in this hole, with its greasy walls, concrete bed and bobby pin sabotaged wires, I guess this is fucking it!
Come on down and we’ll make it easy, we’ll put the gun in you’re hand and then sell you the bullets,
So we do what we can, stumbling through the masses in search of one white lady, these people make me sick,
So much irony and evil in this place, it’s built to wreck us,
Crossing state lines and taking them down the road, she had told me how she felt,
A lone ranger, a beat up truck, if only she know how much I understood,
The cheese kept us pleased despite its stench and the liquor kept us warm,
Finally in the right place, it’s fine to call it a night, red headed and fast paced but so utterly down, Waking up and knowing where you are,
Fucking vegas…
Featured Artist: Steadman
Currently Listening to: Welcome the Plague Year
I wanna fuck the girl singer...
p.s. all those time you were at the Vet's hall as a kid and you wanted to kill the little prick who spent 5 dollars worth of quarters on the jukebox to play "cathy's clown" on repeat...yeah...that was me.
eat shit
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