The Sexual Allure of the Purple Pieman, or, Severus Snape Drops His Gaze to Meet the Mouth of Marilyn Manson

I grew up thinking that Axl Rose was a transwoman (although I did not have that language, of course, at the time). It came out of a pre-internet misunderstanding of the lyrics of Rocket Queen, but it validated the shit out of my life in its misunderstanding. I was obsessed. Here was this beautiful gender queer: long red hair, flannel shirts, tight leather pants accented with metal studs and bandanas. I was shocked and amazed that there were so many beautiful, high-haired girls screaming for Axl when they knew. Somehow, I felt validated in everything from gender to the emotionlessness-followed-by-periodic-total-no-skin-on-vulnerability. (Come on folks. The song starts out as an "I'm gonna bang you all night" song and ends with a "I don't want to see you standing in the rain/know that I care" song). I would listen to Rocket Queen over and over and over again because of it. My understanding of the lyrics (there are at least three below) went like this:

Here I am-
Your Rocket Queen
I might be a little young
but honey I ain't naive
Here I am-
your Rocket Queen- oh yeah
I might be too much but honey
I've been obscene...
I've seen everything imaginable
pass before these eyes
I've had everything that's changeable-
honey you'd be surprised."

There it was. Exhale. Validation.


It's amazing how we see and find ourselves in media, toys, culture, etc. growing up. I once asked a group of my friends what were the first MTV videos they remember being turned on by. The responses were amazing and, at the same time, completely matched who they are today. I think the only one that came up multiple times was Paula Abdul's Cold Hearted Snake video, which is not at all a surprise. I mean come on: how many genders can be in one video?! What were some of yours?

(pause)



In other news, I've been realizing that the backward-wig-wearing indie rock boys are plugging into something for me lately: They're getting older. They're doing this 'ironic mustache wax' shit. Their pants are getting tighter. Their asshole-shoe tips are getting longer. All that is left is for them to tie obscenely large measuring spoons around their waists and have a murder of crows around their heads. And pies. One must not forget the bait of pies. It's purely aesthetic, of course. Most are far too timid to pull anything of significance, let alone danger. Vanilla wrapped in electrical tape, but one can still enjoy the show.