When did I first begin to fight? When did I first start to hate the world, the scheme of things, when did I first question the existing order of the world? I don't remember. It started with a friend, then more friends, then music, then finally, maybe listening to the words of some of the songs. It was never just the music, though. It was the fact that I felt in my life at that same time something beginning to pull. Something trying to tear at me. Scratching the surface of my little world of school-parent-correct-way-to-live-ness. I was very unhappy. I was miserable. I was so angry inside, but I had no idea at what. What was it we fought against? What was it we fought for? I remember years of struggle, squirming around, angry, wanting to rip it out and start everything over again fresh. What was it, jim? You were there the whole time, fighting your own war. And every once in awhile, we'd look over, and think "yep, you're still here, still going" and so we'd keep on. What was it we fought against? Oppression, suppression, depression. We fought against blind obedience, against insensitivity, against cruelty, against, ignorance, against structure, against silence, against all of it. All we knew was that something was wrong, very wrong, and even if we couldn't fix it, we at least wanted other people to notice it, too. So we fought. Against the idea that I need the perfect car, or the perfect house, clothes, family, or life. Proud of the fact that we not only didn't have it, we didn't want it. I remember days spent wondering, speculating, philosophizing the world's problems in the hallway between classes. I remember nights of meeting new people, riding around in a car, blasting good, loud music, feeling very alive with the window rolled down, having no idea where we were going. I remember funny days, sad nights, weird quirks, & boring, lazy hours, but through it all, I was always so certain. I still had the feeling inside. That quivering, explosive rage against against against . . .something. I could make all As, I could laugh and joke in the hallways, but I was crumbling inside. In those last few months, all the love for schooling fell away, replaced by an almost maddening itch to get away, to get out of this pointless, meaningless, busybusybusybusy busy-work filled life. I was drowning in the shallow faces of shell-people whose only speech was quotes from television. And in the very end, the only thing holding me up was that anger, the feeling that things are not right, and even if we can't change them, we should at least notice and laugh at them. That anger transformed into strength, and it held me up through the very end when I would have crumbled away. In my own way, temporarily, I got out. I got away. I still have that feeling, though, but it's more subdued now. For a while, I almost even lost it. It's so easy to forget things. It's so easy to forget life, struggles, what mattered so much, when right here is right here right now looking me in the face. I go on day to day & life goes by & I wear less spiky things now than I did back then. I came so close to forgetting what it all meant. I almost lost it.. . .but no. I realized something then. I remembered. For all that my outside ever changed or ever will change, the strength is always a part of me. That anger, that fight is still there-it's always going on, although the opponents might alter slightly as the years go by. Wasn't that one of the deepest things, though, too? That appearances don't matter for anything. And that's why I wore spikes and chains and collars and plaid and colors in my hair. And that's why I wear whatever I wear today. Because it's all the same, in the end. And now days, when I'm walking along a sidewalk downtown, every once in a while I pass a really young kid with blue hair and an Operation Ivy t-shirt. I pause a second, and look at him, remembering. Then, I smile. Looking up at the sky, I start to laugh. The faces around me change, but the same three-chord song keeps playing.