I Dunno Something Political?

May your autumn be cozy, refreshing, and full of love.

I’ve tried, tried, tried And I’ve tried even more  I’ve Cried, Cried, Cried And I can’t recall what for I’ve pressed, I’ve pushed, I’ve yelled, I’ve begged In hope of some success  But the inevitable fact is that It never will impress 

I’ve no more fucks to give,   My fucks have runneth dry,  I’ve tried to go fuck shopping  But there’s no fucks left to buy  I’ve no more fucks to give,  Though more fucks I’ve tried to get,  I’m over my fuck budget and I’m now in fucking debt 

I strive, strive, strive  To get everything done  I’ve played by all the rules But I’ve very rarely won, I’ve smiled, I’ve charmed, I’ve wooed I’ve laughed, Alas to no avail I’ve run round like a moron, To unequivocally fail!

I’ve no more fucks to give, My fuck fuse has just blown, I’ve been hunting for my fucks all day, But they’ve upped and fucked off home, I’ve no more fucks to give, My fuck rations are depleted, I’ve rallied my fuck army but It’s been fucking defeated! 

The effort has just not been worth The time or the expense I’ve exhausted all my energy  For minimal recompense The complete lack of acknowledgement  Has now begun to gall And I’ve come to realise that I  Don’t give a fuck at all!

I’ve no more fucks to give, My fucks have flown away, My fucks are now so fucked off They’ve refused to fucking stay! I’ve no more fucks to give, My fucks have gone insane They’ve come back round and passed me While they’re fucking off again!

I’ve no more fucks to give, My fucks have all dissolved, I’ve planned many projects But my fucks won’t be involved! I’ve no more fucks to give, My fucks have all been spent, They’ve fucked off from the building And I don’t know where they went! 

“A picture of a woman got me into punk. As I stood there, holding a copy of Patti Smith’s just-released Horses album—the one with the Mapplethorpe photo on it—in my 15-year-old hands, I felt like I was looking at my future while seeing the present for the first time. I didn’t know anything about Smith at the time except that she was a poet and obsessed with Keith Richards, two qualities that rarely intersected in the mid-1970s pop culture. For months, I played Horses every day. From there it was a surprisingly short step to The Ramones, The Sex Pistols, and The Clash and my discovery, courtesy of Creem magazine, of Lou Reed, The Stooges, and the New York Dolls. Not a woman among them, except Patti.

It took a while before I realized the breadth of the roles women were playing in the punk scenes developing in New York, London, California, and all across the U.S. Punk was providing space and opportunity for all types of artists, musicians, writers, iconoclasts, eccentrics, and women. Briefly, from the late 70s to the early 80s, women played a major role in those scenes as musicians and as writers, photographers, artists, and clothing designers. Some led their own bands and, for the first time, female guitarists, bassists, and drummers found a place on the stage.

As the 1980s brought us hardcore with its hard-hitting slam dancing and thrash, the diverse and artier punk scenes that had welcomed women quickly became arenas of aggressive hyper–masculinity. Women weren’t exactly excluded but, as Jennifer Miro, singer for San Francisco’s The Nuns, has said, “Women just got squeezed out.” With few exceptions, women found themselves on the outside looking in. Things would evolve dramatically in the 1990s, but the pioneering work of women in the early days of punk should be remembered and saluted. Here are just a few of them.”