What remains when I undressed my first punk from his darkest insights…

 (Shortcut for my daughter to nudity and other public disorders)

A few weeks ago, the significant non-sense reflecting in my 18 years old daughter’s eyes, while we were watching together Mad Max, stroke me. I brought back for her from the basement my old Nina Hagen’s vinyls. The records every old-fashioned mother has in memory. Within them, out of the dust, a personal memory made its coming out and I decided to give life again to the times when punk were not dead. A short story that my daughter could carry from times to times as souvenirs and understandings of her mother.
The one of my teenager crush for a young German punk. The one in which I saw a punk naked for the first time.
A short cut through the questions my curious daughter doesn’t dare to ask, so anxious by the freaky answers she might get from me about nudity and other public disorders.
Punk VS Princess

Was I rebel in those times ?

Not more, not less than today, my daughter. I don’t remember I ever had the desire to spit on whoever came across. I was not even trendy. Simply an average good-looking, good-scored pupil, good at making friends wherever, in whatever language. This year, it was a summer school in German

Was I proud of my transgressive and adventurous conquest ?

Not even, my daughter. No pride, no shame. It was only a spontaneous childish romantic flirt. Before meeting, he would never had imagine being attracted by a girl looking like me and I would never had imagine being attracted by a guy looking like him.
We might even have been blind this summer. I don’t remember the color of his extravagant coiffure. Red, Blue, Green ? Probably, no hair on the sides. How many safety pins was he wearing ? I don’t remember. Probably between none or a dozen in the ears. Probably not on the lips, I would remember that, at least.
But yes , I remember his black jacket. I remember I laughed when he put kindly, on my ball gown, his leather jacket, with written on the back « No future ». Kindly because the night was as cold as the glimpse of my friends when I came at his arm to the final evening schoolparty.
No more pride, no more shame, than when he guided me, so conventionally dressed, through his little universe, through his hometown and waved from far to the local punk community at noon the day before. I took then his jacket on my shoulders on this shiny day, to protect him from the angry heat of the black maked-up eyes of his streetfriends. No big deal, you see my daughter. Just a summer flirt, with no future written in the back. Simple, sweet, light and volatile like the flowers perfume and summer attention he offered me every morning on my way to school.


“Were we naked during this week ?”

What a strange question, my daughter. Of course, not ! I didn’t put off my princess dress and he didn’t put off his punk clothes. We were very young. But some how, you are right to ask. In a sense, we were absolutely naked. Naked in public in front of everyone, naked in private each facing the other. And naked, we were truly pretty the same. Simply us in casual relation for some nice shared moments. He was an amazingly kind, smart and handsome. Don’t laugh at me, my daughter. He really was charming as far as I remember. Probably because, as far as I remember, he was naked despite his dressing. That never goes out of fashion. The last words he waved me in the bus who took me home were “Change nothing …”. My answer was naturally “Don’t either”. We were naked. It was not about look and feel items, which yes, you are right, could have been improved.

“What has this story to do with you ?”

Of course, my daughter, I’m not trying to tell you that picking up on the street the first « bad-boy » would be a tremendous experience for you to live. I would be very happy too if you bring back home a charming prince. I don’t either try to explain what you know from long ago. That appearances are not important. I would rather say you the contrary as outcome of this story. The point is not to know if my flirt could have ended as an Hollywood story, like Grease, when Olivia and John switch their looks and behaviors in the name of love. Remember the starting point of this story. The point was to understand Mad Max survival issue. If once, an inner voice shouts in your darkest thoughts « no future » and « fuck the system », remember my story and kiss your punk. Don’t stare at him as he would be a dangerous alien, who would have landed in your peaceful little universe and frightens your life. If he is there, it’s because your universe is not peaceful. He is there to protect you, to protect the most essential and sensitive part of you. The part that is not usually welcomed. Don’t throw him out of town, don’t tie him within a camisole and please don’t panic and turn back in front of him. Look at his jacked like I once looked at my German punk’s one. He is there to help in the darkest moments. He is the very last knight standing up and resisting for your princess survival. Kiss him and be awaked. And please, don’t ask him to change, to silence, so that all the other parts of you can sleep quiet on their two ears. He is a punk, and will stay like a safety pin in your ass, whatever you do, however you deny it. He won’t run away, he won’t hide, he will even assault more and more the other parts of you, become more and more repulsive and unbearable. He is ready to kill you for you not to die. Don’t ask him to conform you. He does not ask that from you either. Kiss him, take his memory as the precious gift it is.

And please, my princess, don’t trick with him. He will know and will trick you better. He is the master of appearances, the only one you might see naked with changing clothes and genuine eyes. He is not playing. It’s a matter of life or death for the punk you might once meet on your inner road. It might be once a matter of life or death for you too, my princess.

Punk is not dead and should never die.

Take this memory with you, my daughter, along the road and if you once meet your inner Punk, don’t let him go without hugging him with all my affection. Any ways, I wish you a lot of happiness with this « no future story » until the end of times.

One Response to “What remains when I undressed my first punk from his darkest insights…”
  1. Sylvie says:

    Très joli vraiment, merci pour ces raccourcis, Amicalement,

    Sylvie ETIENT


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