At the
Satellite coffeehouse Chomsky-ites have tattoos of Eastern symbols
(I-Ching, yin-yang, Buddha) all over their arms the screen-saver
for the
computer is ImpeachBush.com while they sit huddled over pamphlets
printed on cheap paper put together at Kinko’s about how to make bombs
overthrow the
gov’t grow hemp smoke hemp know hemp be hemp
or the way to join a food co-op that has exotic berries with
anti-oxidants
& which has been
going in West Philly since 1969 but these kids
were raised on indie punk and their bands only know a few chords
but everything about
suffering and it comes out in
songs like glass shards
no one has Health Insurance many have bikes get in accidents
get addicted to
pills but no one much cares Health Insurance is for yuppies
what is wanted is a community anti-everything material goods
are derided in favor
of principles but there is no public
outlet to bring them
to the attention of the masses who are disdained anyway for not having
tattoos playing in punk bands reading Chomsky shopping at Mariposa
knowing what scum directs the
media what polished, rehearsed scum
polished, rehearsed,
privileged by luck and
education to brainwash us with
imbecile illusions of happiness but these kids ain’t happy either
they want something
else what they can’t admit to
wanting a real voice,
real status real position real influence real opportunity
& it’s not going
to happen here at the
Satellite so they sip brackish drinks
unsweetened by sugar give out their pamphlets promote their bands
find themselves at
thirty borderline derelict addicted to Percosets
that they get through covert
means which are unreliable some have canes
as if this were an
old age home which it is as Shelley was aged by radicalism
unchecked by moderation emotional, psychological, or
otherwise
so that it’s the
world against them and they
ape contentment with this
scenario that sears its lines onto
their foreheads oh the
irony
that Penn is just a
few blocks away where Chomsky
went, and me
where real influence is
possible owing to prestige and
money
but don’t call West
Philly University City here
you’ll get spit on
because it’s seen as a marketing
ploy to destroy the Satellite
its espirit de
corps atmosphere of huddled
hairiness tattooed twists
wanton sex perverse reliance on
self-medication & impending age
which reduces
sangfroid to bitterness just like
black coffee & black coffee
is what the Satellite does
best Edith Piaf could sing a
chanson
just for the
Satellite only in triple
time like a punk song everyone
would bow their heads, knowing
truth knowing failure knowing
salvaging a life
from radicalism is a scary
venture not for sissies
or those who want Health
Insurance to keep them alive
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