BIO
Stop it.
put that shit right the fuck out onto your back porch where you sit in that puke green lawnchair each and every summer night.
where you feel as though all is right with the world and your life seems untouchable as long as you're hidden behind that rotting wooden fence in the front yard.
put that shit right the fuck out onto your back porch and stay there.
these boys don't need you.
they've found what they were looking for and it won't ever be filed, taxed, bottled or denied.
it's more than most of what the endless strain of worker bees and family ties could ever begin to comprehend, respect or accept.
and, my friends, enemies, onlookers and naysayers.....these boys could care less.
restraint does not exist in this house, anymore.....it woke up screaming in the middle of the night, ran right out into the street and hitched the first ride out of town that sad pile of waste could find.
and these bastards?
these bastards threw a "good riddance" party in it's honor, pissed all over it's memory and then got in the goddamn van.
they got in the goddamn van and declared a vendetta upon themselves and anyone delerious enough to try and stand in thier way....
a vendatta upon the liars, the cheats, the cleans, the heartless and the apathetic.
there are open wounds.
there are scars that can be mistaken as roadmaps....and they all tell the stories of five men that would rather live in the age of danger than sit idle in the age of the "safe".
there are bruises,
there is broken equipment, there is sweat, there is tension and there is reckless abandon.
but, most of all, there is a fucking iron-willed passion.
believe it.
they are artists, kiddo.
they don't have any money.
they don't "get by"....they struggle.
night in and night out.
these motherfuckers live it.
the_Network does not need punk.
punk needs the_Network.
-Ryan J McKenney
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