Punk Rock As A Religious Institution

My first punk show was the real Fourth Great Awakening
It was Southern Baptists
singing to snakes
speaking in tongues
preaching about Hellfire and Brimstone
My first punk show was like shaking hands with Jesus
Not the healing the sick
feeding the hungry with
fishes and loaves Jesus
No
This Jesus
started cleansing the temple
wearing a faded leather jacket
A Stick To Your Guns t-shirt
and ripped jeans
kicking over market stalls and money changer’s tables
swinging a nail bat
exhorting,”Be gone from my Father’s house. Begone you thieves.
Get the fuck out or, I swear to me, I will crack skulls.”
My first punk show taught me how to pray
taught me that prayers sound a lot like 300 hundred voices all singing the same song
300 different ways
Taught me that prayers
are better offered with your body
are better offered in the mosh pit
I have never been comfortable
praying on my knees
Punk rock’s commandments are simple
The venue is an altar
a sacred place
Leave your hate and insecurities in the car
It’s gonna be packed
If you want breathing room
You’d better be willing to fight for it
No one is going to give you anything you haven’t earned
When someone is willing to stand in front of you
and give everything they have
You better be willing
to give nothing less in return
Punk rock has no gender
no race
no religion
this is humanity
as a brotherhood
So when someone falls
you always pick them back up
My first punk show was a shitty dive bar with a bad PA
My God
It was glorious

By Jordan Hamilton

Biography:

Jordan Hamilton is a 23 year old poet from Aransas Pass, Texas. He was honorably discharged from the Marine Corps in 2014, where he learned to stare open eyed into clouds of CS gas while reciting Buddy Wakefield’s “Human the Death Dance.” He thinks punk rock can save the world and find his dreams in the stories of strangers. He wants you to know that your survival is the highest form of courage. His work can be found at workingonhumble.com or in audio format at jordanhamilton.bandcamp.com