I'm, like, so 'punk'. yeah.

Okay, I'm no punk, in fact I'm far too neurotic to look like I don't care. But I love punk culture, I love Dame Viv's (far left) 'Sex' era work; I love the Ramones and 'Bondage Trousers.' But, for me, true punkism is inaccessible. I can only attempt it, never actually succeed.
'Punk' is angst, first and foremost, its followers draw inspiration from their quarrels with the world/their family/government/pop music and they wear it on the outside, and NOTHING makes me angst-ier than Valentine's Day; a day designed to make single pringles feel like nothings.
So with all the pent up V-Day angst boiling in my blood, I had to find a suitably positive outlet for this negative energy before it boiled over into a 'Don't make me AAAANNGGRRYYY!!' killing spree a la the Hulk (in case you didn't get the last ref.) I chose to attack my defenseless clothes with my bare hands. You shoulda seen the looks on their faces... they weren't suspecting a thing.

This is what I made, sorta, see once upon a time I had this amazing skeleton necklace that was jointed like a proper skeleton and I wore it every day. You see, I have a tendency to play with any necklace I have on whenever I get nervous and anxious and revising for the finals saw me my lovely skeleton fiddled into pieces. All that was left was the skull attatched to the chain, the ribcage and all of the disassociated limbs; I scooped them up and dropped them into a box until I found them again a few days ago.

This leather thong with a ring is also a broken necklace (do I have any unbroken jewelry? I don't think so) and I wore it around my wrist 'cuz it's so kewl. But after reading The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy I knew what this wrist-lace was lacking, severed limbs!

Yeah, the story behind this is simple, I wore the skull on the chain mainly because it was cute to have a teeny little skull around your neck, and whilst working on a piece in my college fashion course I found I couldn't be assed to walk the VOYAGE to the cupboard in the other room to replace the safety pin; so I sneakily slipped it into the necklace; and I think I love it as much as my dog-tags.

These are my dad's dog-tags from the gulf, HE'S STILL AROUND Whenever someone compliments me on these they ask 'Wherever did you get these?' I say 'They belonged to my dad' and then they go 'Oh I'm so terribly sorry!' at which point I have to assure them that No, my dad did not die in the gulf; he just let me had these because I loved them and he thought it would be cool for me to have a decent pair of Dog-tags with some real background.

ehhh, aren't Dog-Tags like, soooo 1997?

Shut your noise, I'm bringing them back.