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It wasn’t an intense phase, but I definitely skanked with glee when they played Reel Big Fish at a school dance. I’ll also admit: yes, I dabbled in the dark skarts.
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It was all a flurry of random punk and hardcore sub-genres from there. I stopped listening to Sublime cold turkey. And then, when I was 14, an older punk kid I looked up to said they sucked, so I didn’t like Sublime anymore. But the shirt has been making me wonder: do people just like the Sublime T-shirt because we’re stuck in a neverending cycle of retro? Or is Sublime.a good band? It’s become a little like the Joy Division T-shirt: you see one everywhere you go, but you aren’t exactly sure who is a fan and who just likes the way the shirt looks. Maybe this guy scored it from an older sibling maybe that girl dropped a few hundred bucks on Grailed maybe that 17-year-old got one at Hot Topic. There’s no one kind of person who wears them. , and brought about the well-being of the oppressed.Lately, I’ve been seeing vintage Sublime T-shirts all over the place. When Marduk sent me to rule over men, to give the protection of right to the land, I did right and righteousness in. “When Anu the Sublime, King of the Anunnaki, and Bel, the lord of Heaven and earth, who decreed the fate of the land assigned to Marduk, the over-ruling son of Ea, God of righteousness, dominion over earthly man, and made him great among the Igigi, they called Babylon by his illustrious name, made it great on earth, and founded an everlasting kingdom in it, whose foundations are laid so solidly as those of heaven and earth then Anu and Bel called by name me, Hammurabi, the exalted prince, who feared God, to bring about the rule of righteousness in the land, to destroy the wicked and the evil-doers so that the strong should not harm the weak, so that I should rule over the black-headed people like Shamash and enlighten the land, to further the well-being of mankind. This world, he thinks, contains just one masterpiece, and that is itself.” Gulls fly through clouds of steam from laundries' vats over kites unthreading corpses of cats over scholars glimpsing truth in fragile patterns over bath-house adulterers, heartbroken slatterns fishwives dismembering lobsters and crabs their husbands gutting mackerel on slabs woodcutters' sons sharpening axes candle-makers, rolling waxes flint-eyed officials milking taxes etiolated lacquerers mottle-skinned dyers imprecise soothsayers unblinking liars weavers of mats cutters of rushes ink-lipped calligraphers dipping brushes booksellers ruined by unsold books ladies-in-waiting tasters dressers filching page-boys runny-nosed cooks sunless attic nooks where seamstresses prick calloused fingers limping malingerers swineherds swindlers lip-chewed debtors rich in excuses heard-it-all creditors tightening nooses prisoners haunted by happier lives and ageing rakes by other men's wives skeletal tutors goaded to fits firemen-turned-looters when occasion permits tongue-tied witnesses purchased judges mothers-in-law nurturing briars and grudges apothecaries grinding powders with mortars palanquins carrying not-yet-wed daughters silent nuns nine-year-old whores the once-were-beautiful gnawed by sores statues of Jizo anointed with posies syphilitics sneezing through rotted-off noses potters barbers hawkers of oil tanners cutlers carters of night-soil gate-keepers bee-keepers blacksmiths and drapers torturers wet-nurses perjurers cut-purses the newborn the growing the strong-willed and pliant the ailing the dying the weak and defiant over the roof of a painter withdrawn first from the world, then his family, and down into a masterpiece that has, in the end, withdrawn from its creator and around again, where their flight began, over the balcony of the Room of Last Chrysanthemum, where a puddle from last night's rain is evaporating a puddle in which Magistrate Shiroyama observes the blurred reflections of gulls wheeling through spokes of sunlight.
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Gulls alight on whitewashed gables, creaking pagodas and dung-ripe stables circle over towers and cavernous bells and over hidden squares where urns of urine sit by covered wells, watched by mule-drivers, mules and wolf-snouted dogs, ignored by hunch-backed makers of clogs gather speed up the stoned-in Nakashima River and fly beneath the arches of its bridges, glimpsed form kitchen doors, watched by farmers walking high, stony ridges. “Gulls wheel through spokes of sunlight over gracious roofs and dowdy thatch, snatching entrails at the marketplace and escaping over cloistered gardens, spike topped walls and treble-bolted doors.