All you artists and lovers, activists and liars, listen close and give up. We're all naive to think that our performance has the power to cure the human condition. From the basement to the stadium, every microphone's a vehicle to convey a sermon of the ideals of a quasi-radical. And try, as we might, our attempts are doomed to fail. Every approach has been exhausted, from Dadaism to Marxism. We aren't even an inch closer to solving any of the problems we've set out to fix. In the wake of the 20th century, John Lennon spent his last years for peace. He used his fame to address the bourgeois; monogamous sex was all he achieved. And after admitting this, I'm left with hopelessness. I guess I forgot that with goals you should start small. If I can just believe that one person will feel the same connection that I had the first time I heard the pounding drums on The Shape of Punk to Come, then I will dismiss the part of me that's become a cynic.