Fading Basement Music

Vampire makeup inspo. 🩸🍷

You Might Be An Xennial If...

you don't even (whatever whatever what-ever) care that you'll never recover from the recession

Empire Records was your favorite film & like, who needs a job with a decent paycheck & benefits when you can be a tattooed gum-chewing freak forever?

damn the man!

you remember dial-up modems, AOL chat rooms, web page guestbooks

you ever made mix tapes (& later made the transition to mix CDs but some long nights you long for those days spent pressing record & play.)

you grew up playing Oregon Trail & part of you can't help but think your demise will arrive like death did in that game, driving an 8bit Conestoga, telling you: you have died of cholera, you have died of dysentery.

you have died of exhaustion.

no one wants to claim you once you were a Gen-Xer but they kicked you out & you know you're not a Millenial cuz, like, you still use soap & napkins & drink beer, & go to Applebee's once or twice a year.

New Kids on the Block was your boy band & you came of age during the heyday of third-wave ska, learned to skank at summer camp after a few sweaty rounds of spin-the-bottle & from them on got sorta turned on every time you heard

pick it up! pick it up! pick it up!

you wonder at the ways of the younger generations, so many of them eschew sex & cars, but back in your day, there was no greater insult than you're a virgin who can't drive

you heard a lot of whispered innuendo when Clinton was prez, adults snickering about what happened under that table when they thought you weren't listening like you didn't know what a blowjob was? like you'd never been asked

spit or swallow?

you gave your first blowjob at twelve bestowed the back of your throat to an older boy hoping he'd splatter his coolness back onto you; twelve was the age you developed a taste for several oral fixations—cocks & tongues, joints & cigarettes

you had a lot of firsts at twelve, like, that was the year you wrote your first zine, the year you first tried suicide, yeah there were enough things making you feel so shitty you wanted to die, even when you were twelve

the year punk broke (your heart)

you were too young to see most of the cool '90s bands live, but old enough to be devastated when their lead singers killed themselves or o.d.'d—you had your first cigarette the day Kurt died, stood huddled in mourning

outside your school with all the other weirdos with their black clothes & nicotine haloes, someone passed a cigarette to you & you smoked it while a boy you knew bloodied his knuckles on the brick wall while muttering fuck you fuck you fuck you & the world was ending

Y2K was your armageddon, you were eighteen, so full of whitehot fury you wanted to see the world all burning skies & shattering glass, but nothing happened so you shot up & passed out in your boyfriend's bed

the world has been ending ever since you were born, & you spent so many years trying to end your life in both direct & oblique ways, you never thought you'd live past twenty-one, & maybe what really defines your generation

is that self-destructive impulse, cuz your heroes were suicidal rockstars & you grew up aware of chemical warfare & species extinction & your own downward mobility & your older siblings raised you on the gospel of Gen X slackerdom, so, like, whenever an adult asked what you were going to do with your lives you responded in unison

planning for the future? ugh, as if!

🔥Home Sweet Hell Home🔥

Crossstitch designed and Stitched by me 😘