Me and Lou Reed, or Why Punk is My Soundtrack

My father-in-law, kicking ass and taking names
My father-in-law, kicking ass and taking names

This morning my running partner was Lou Reed. He captured just the right mix of rage and awe to describe the fucked-up, amazing, cruel, gorgeous state of being that is my life today.

This world it breaks my heart. We are birthed. We love. We are left behind. We die. ¬†All while Facebook screws with us and kids get kidnapped because they’re Jewish or Palestinian and the Antarctic ice sheet is going and the Supreme Court has shoved its man-fingers up my crotch.

And cancer.

Fuck. It makes me swear blue and cry red. Leave my people alone, I want to yell.

I may be a forty-three-year-old white lady loading kids in Subaru wagon, but as I grieve the death of my father-in-law and the pain of my husband, punk is the only soundtrack I want.

Send me your best tracks, people. Consider it a condolence offering.

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