Word: flesh
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Before we flesh out this distinction, some background information might be in order. Roughly speaking, punk comes in two very similar flavors: British and American. British punk developed in the late 70’s as sort of disillusioned political outgrowth from lower-class neighborhoods, influenced by old-school rock n’ roll as well as reggae. Offshoots included ska, and later oi, music. American punk, taking its cue almost directly from the British punk sound and attitude, was formulated as a direct affront to the overly commercial arena rock scene of the preceding decade. Since that time...
...reached into the steam and turned off the faucet. The water had melted away layers of my brother’s shoulder, rendering it a red mass of naked muscle, bleeding from the veins I could see more clearly without flesh obstructing the view. After the paramedics rushed him to the hospital, I went to my room and worried that he might not come back...
...core of Harvard insider-elites, institutional historians and over-eager student journalists who hungrily devour every line of copy or print that references fair Harvard. The authors are perfect for this audience; he is Spector Professor of History at Brandeis, while she is a Harvard insider in the flesh, a former associate dean for academic affairs at Harvards Faculty of Arts and Sciences...
...Manhattan was a sharp steel forest where volunteers and fire fighters dug around the clock without rest. Doctors at St. Vincent's Hospital told of the fire fighter who had to carry out the decapitated body of his captain. The search dogs were overwhelmed; there was just too much flesh to smell. One emerged with a torn, blackened teddy bear in its mouth. Rescuers found the bodies of airline passengers strapped in their seats, a flight attendant with her hands bound. Doctors at the triage stations grieved that there were not more survivors to treat. All they could...
It’s like having both my hands cut off. Or a piece of flesh extracted from under my ribcage. I would give blood, but the hospitals are overwhelmed; I would volunteer, but what good can an untrained teen do while stranded in Massachusetts? Powerless to do anything, powerless to say anything, the only thing left to do is to wait. And to watch: those images, over and over, from one angle then another, from below, from above, from the street corners on which I’ve stood and the restaurants at which I’ve eaten...