One band was full of kind of shy girls, all new on their instruments I think. They were the first to write a song. They asked Tessa to come listen to it. “We’re afraid it might be too violent,” they said. Tessa came out of the room with tears in her eyes. “The song went like this,” she said. “It starts out really sweet and quiet:
*You can touch my knee but it’s kind of creepy. You can touch my something but it’s kind of something *
Then there’s a pause and they scream at the top of their lungs:
*But don’t touch my face! Don’t touch my face!”*
then it’s like
*Now you’re on the way to the funeral place. All the police have dropped the case they say you shouldn’t have touched my face.*
then scream *Don’t touch my face! Don’t touch my face! Don’t touch my face!*

- Cindy Crabb, from Doris #29, about Athens Ohio Rock Camp for Girls.  This was typewritten and the way it’s spaced on the page is an interesting part of its power, it’s not as good at all on the screen.

Get ahold of this zine.  

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