There are all kinds of punks. Crusty punks, pop punks, straight edge punks, political punks, drunk punks, silly punks, nazi punks, skinhead punks, metal punks and more! This is a book about one kind of punk—the “fuck-the-world-let’s-get-drunk-and-talk-about-killing-everyone” punk!
Jimmy Reject, ex-member of the amazing Dimestore Haloes, has collected a number of his writings, including an autobiography of sorts (previously published as the zine Down in Flames), and put them together in book form. This book looks back on his “fuck-the-world-let’s-get-drunk-and-talk-about-killing-everyone” years!
In the “Down in Flames” section, Jimmy tells crazy stories – about peeing on Donny the Punk, having a threesome with a guy and a girl, doing a lot of drugs, meeting Mykel Board, and more. But these are not your average fucked-up-on-drugs stories. As the author’s bio reveals, Jimmy was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia about eight years ago. Most of these stories center on delusions, hallucinations and fantasies – written in a style that’s sometimes over-the-top, but more often just plain easy to read. And, unlike so many books that look back on the author’s mental illness, this one does not attempt to be reflective. It just tells it like it was, in first person, as it unfolded. This is the kind of book you can’t put down, regardless, because the stories are just so odd.
For example, there’s the delusional fantasies (“I was convinced that I was Satan, that dark adversary crevice that lurked beneath the benevolent light that shone on all God’s creatures; the spiritual antithesis of everything. And I had already sent a disciple roaring into the flames of Hell.”); there’s the overflowing anger (“I wanted to punch him in the face until his nose exploded in raw, red blood. I wanted to kick him in the nads until they turned blue. But most of all I wanted to hack him with an axe until his intestines were exposed then smother his body in road salt.”); there’s the frequent G.G. Allin references (“I suffered an innate rage expressed only by the likes of G.G. Allin.”); there’s the flirtation with anything as long as it pisses people off (“[The record] was searing, grinding, dissonant noise, marked by lyrics about a kid who stabbed himself in the stomach, a gang of nun rapists and aliens with swastika tattoos coming to earth looking for Jesus Christ. My kind of shit.”); and then there’s the emotional connection with rejection (“Greetings we are the people you never talked to in high school and we’ve been waiting for you.”).
Yes, this is one creepy book. But, even though I couldn’t relate to almost anything Jimmy writes about (my delusions mostly concern Sour Patch Kids and Lucky Charms), I read it all in one sitting. And although one of the stories, “Sequin Blue,” isn’t that great (it’s basically Jimmy’s autobiography twisted around with a 50-year-old teacher as the main character), I’m going to be handing this around to friends for quite some time.
After all, how often does a book come along with the sentence “Then I knew that in fact all songs were written about me, all in celebration of how I’d ascend to rid the world of Christ’s congealing influence”? –Maddy (Jimmy Reject c/o Blueboy Productions, PO Box 710041, Quincy, MA 02171)