Origins and Ideals

Someone once said “The best way to start a journey is at the beginning.” I don’t know who that was.

I took too much acid to pay attention to details. But hell, why not?

I hail from a small place in Australia approximately 38km from the sun. a cess pit of crime, corruption, incest, swine, violence and general bad vibes. Our sanctuary away from the street was known only as the Haggard house. It was a home to all the lost souls of the current scene. All the broke, addicted, angry and depressed mother fuckers that

a       A. Didn't belong anywhere else or

b       B.  Didn’t have anywhere else to go.

It was a place where anyone was welcome, providing they supplied the alcohol and drugs, to come and waste days on end.

The house itself was owned by the founding father Mathew Perkins, who bought the property in the hope it would become a family home with a long since gone girlfriend. This plan failed. The masses of tattooed alcoholics found out about it and learned the address and collectively decided to test the waters. To see exactly how much we could get away with before someone flipped out. It’s been almost 3 years and we still haven’t found the limit.

Those scarred walls have witnessed every depraved act and low breed antic one can imagine. For an age that has only recently ended the building was damn near bull dozer worthy. Tear it down and cut the losses in the hope something new will grow. A beautiful new life out of the ashes of a horrific, deeply disturbing and downright disgusting way of life. Hell even Nazi Germany became an ok place to spend the weekend after Berlin fell. But there is still the stench of a sinister past in the air. Something evil is there in the earth that will never be gotten rid of. As is the same with Haggard. It will always be the 6^th Reich.

But not to condemn it entirely.

For the span of the Haggard Dynasty there has been the distinct sense of family. Much like that described in the age old tales of battalions in trench warfare or the 3 musketeers. No one is ever left behind. One for all, all for one. Any problems amongst the patrons were resolved in a quick exchange of heated words and promptly followed by a hand shake and a hug. We couldn’t afford to lose one of ours numbers. Besides, we were brothers. We always will be.

It’s what I imagine the 60’s to have been like. A raw motley crew of societies rejects banding together for a common cause. No one was ever sure what that was but there was never any doubt that we were winning. In every sense of the word. Winning the fight. Winning the girl. Winning the respect. Winning the game. And that I think was the handle. We never needed a reason to be together. To drink. To laugh. To cry. We made it through a hardcore and radical time. A time where nothing made sense and the entire pop culture screamed the single word ‘SUICIDE’ over and over and over again. We made it up for air while everything and everyone else sank and thanks only to that house, that place in time and the family that was created there.

The original members are all gone now. Scattered across the globe. I myself am currently sweating out a 30 hour stopover in Kuala Lumpur. God only knows where the others are. But we all know that if need be we can knock on the front door of 34 Eaglemount rd, Mackay, QLD, AUS and come home. Back into the arms of the people who love us eternally. That’s just the handle.