The Kickaways

The Kickaways

We’re here to pick a fight. For the last romantics, the last letter writers. We’re here to step on a throat or two. Make ‘em gag. Give ‘em some lust. We know what they want and we know we got it.
To recipients of phobic displacements.
Watch us now. Clinch our fists. We’ll take your best hit to the jaw. Matter of fact we dare you. We’ll growl, spit, then show our teeth right back atcha. We’re the fuck that no one gives to giving back to what this sound has given us. So flaunt your middle finger with class, kid. They ain’t gonna cry for you. Suicide ain’t sympathy, and we know, yeah, we know how sweet the songs can really be.
Now ain’t that some sugar?
We’re the angels that weep for those who can’t when their night turns seasick blue. So let us spin and blend all the colors of your kaleidoscopic wheel when it all seems grey. And then we’ll take you out, baby doll.
We hope you know, we’ve felt the same way. Don’t be timid, don’t hold back. Let all your weird out. Fuck the rest! If this is the day, then we are the night. With caravans of open hands. Stuffing down the throats of dreams not so often dreamnt for those old and boring fears of being another alienated american immigrant.
Never deny the accident. Become a crash.
Where is the rock that kept our fathers strong? What happened to the roll that propelled the poets in our room to sing their song? Couldn’t peace be as simple as the rain on my naked skin? Couldn’t happiness be as familiar as the pen is to this page? Nope. Not gonna be that way. Life is tough, but we love this moment. So come on kid, let’s pick a fight. Step on these goddamn throats and not let up. Show our teeth. Amen.

-Written at some point in the 21st Century by Charlie Lynn of The Kickaways.