Techno Punk Princess


I am not supposed to go to college I am supposed to be a techno punk princess do you understand? When I was a kid I took guitar lessons at some music shop with gray carpeting in the Detroit suburbs. They’d lock me away in a little halfway soundproof room and watch me pluck out Rudolph the red nosed reindeer on a black fender Stratocaster. I was awful and couldn’t do it until it was muscle memory and hated that they made me play Rudolph the red nosed reindeer when I wanted to play I write Sins not Tragedies or something.

These days all I do is watch videos of Samia in concert on youtube and pretend she’s me. And then I go on walks wearing my headphones with her music playing and pretend she’s me some more, but with outfits and hairstyles and Ernie on my childhood guitar teacher’s black strat. I felt most like myself when I was wearing fishnet tights and a leopard print mini dress doing jokes about Willem Dafoe’s penis and leaping through the air with two bent legs. People were laughing so hard that I heard them choking on it and I sang without my voice shaking and I couldn’t look at anyone in the audience but I felt okay with them looking at me. 

The iphone 15 commercial with Jason Bateman and Sean Hayes is so stupid but that doesnt matter really now does it. My grandma Joan used to listen to NPR in the car and the only interview I ever recall hearing from the backseat of her red sedan was some man talking to a young woman about her assault. She had been raped while on a walk in her neighborhood wearing a pair of mens boxers as shorts. He asked her why she thought she was attacked and its correlation to those boxers. I know that the interviewer wasn’t Howard Stern but from that moment on I’ve always hated Howard Stern. 

I went to the boygenius concert at Madison Square Garden and Phoebe crowd surfed and of course I was nowhere near her and she didnt get very far but I felt her sending some sort of sacred energy through my fingertips. I am supposed to be a rockstar and my palms on her bicep where they never were other than in spirit was the touch of the devil. 

I put the word “Saxophonist” on my hinge profile under the prompt “Im looking for…” because I’m attracted to men who can fuck up an alto sax but all I’ve gotten is losers who reply to it with jokes about their tongues and the word “sax” as “sex” which is obviously unfunny and an insult to jazz musicians everywhere. 

Today my writing professor based generation z’s collective intelligence level and social awareness on whether or not I know who Art Garfunkel is. He was talking about Art Garfunkel and then pointed to me and said “you know who Art Garfunkel is, right?” and I said “Yes.” and then he thanked God and muttered something about the billboard charts or youth or being a virgo to himself before getting back to Fred Astaire. 

Thinking Art Garfunkel is sexy is my darkest truth. Im telling you this because I want to be a rockstar. This is very rock and roll because rock and roll is disgusting. Not that Art Garfunkel is disgusting but most of my secrets are and I talk about them all anyway because I believe in Samia and the silver statue guy in Times Square putting on a big Rangers T shirt to take a smoke break and the deer in my backyard and arrowheart tattoos that say Tiffany inside.

One day I will run away and follow the music like I said that I would when I was eleven and watched Almost Famous on the couch and then got a commemorative underage tattoo of the floral pattern embroidered on Penny Lane’s white tank top.

The thing is I already am a techno punk princess and I’m an oatmeal princess and a horse princess and a princess of fast food crowns made of paper and I am somebody’s favorite son and this is the truth. If you didn’t know this before now maybe it’s because I’ve been flipped inside out.