|
|
When this Buzzcocks song first spurted onto the scene (having some idea of what Pete Shelley's preferences were), I thought it was fey, juvenile, and amusing. Whatever blows your dress up, and all that. Given a little time, the title takes on other, deeper meanings... and I'm trying not to overuse the puns, here. In brief, it rather succinctly points out some personal failings. Like how most of my relationships sprang up, and crashed-and-burned. One head telling the other one what to do. The one minus the grey matter, as always... making the tough lessons a bit more difficult to learn. Witnessing drunken gropings at an early age wasn't a very good example, so it was "go it on your own." Too jaded... too repressed... too detached. When the time came, it was like trying to read heiroglyphs, separating lust from love. But you find out... Right Damn Quick... ...after a couple of weeks in the Homeless Station Wagon Motel when the fire burns out. Idealism tends to be tempered after a few episodes like that. Of course, things fall into reasonable order in the scheme of things when sex and relationships become second nature. Then, once the balance is upset... the edge wears off on the distinction. And that's where you get into trouble. Tough lessons for old dogs. A word to the wise... author included. |
|
|
