Because what I was really searching for in those days was authenticity. I craved it. There was a deep need to feel like I wasn’t always being lied to. That there were, in fact, “real” things in the world. Not everything was an agreed-upon fiction like the flag, or dollar bills, or sports “teams.” Or, of course, the shared delusions of religion. Punk rock records gave me a lot of hope, but they weren’t foolproof. Bands could burn you by “selling out.” Which is kind of a quaint concept these days. It was dumb. But it really did hurt at the time.
