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The New People

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My name is John Doe,

All that I as is 10 digits,

Filed away in a data bank,

Ten cold digits tell my story,

Alpha plus is my rank.

Promise and wonder fill our brave new world,

Of high technology and analysis,

No new thoughts are born,

They are all out worn,

So we stop thinking and cease to exist.

All we are is what we have seen,

The latest propaganda to have been:

A socialist insecurity number,

A ticket to the big match,

A big screen color TV.

A good Sunday ritual,

A membership in the party,

In good standing with the moral majority.

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The Suburbians

Welcome back my friends to a show that's sure to end,

A festival of fools,

A continuium of complacency.

Fighting for the almighty buck,

With cunning or just plain luck,

Chasing checks to the bank,

It's the money that decides your rank.

What is it that we try so hard to buy,

Something called the American Dream?

Has become just another a twisted lie,

We tell ourselves to still desperations silent scream?

Whatever became of our brave new world?

It's really something for the few,

All of it's promise has withered and died,

Killed by accountants in dark gray suites,

Bureaucrats oh so civilized,

That see the world through blinded eyes.

Is this purgatory or just the suburbs?

Where the edges are all smoothed over,

A velvet limbo before the void:

Within this rosy wallpaper exist the numbered people,

Living in a world of pooly written television scripts,

With plastic lovers and young republican minds.

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Rats Racing

Fat cats, mall rats, old bats in expensive hats,

Kids in cars, jocks in bars, wanna be movie stars,

Dead heads, red heads, hot lovin newly weds,

Old men, young skin, trying out a brand new sin,

Cops in cars, sushi bars, hippies with old guitars,

Chinese, Japanese, anime sluts on their knees,

Avenue, Revenue, a river place with a view,

Young punks, old drunks, opportunistic political skunks,

Stylish hills, favorite pills, summer time standing still,

Alley cats, spoiled brats, the morbidly fat,

Network news, nightly blues, trailer trash in Italian shoes,

Big wheels, fast deals, corporate licenses to steal,

Bright lights, urban blight, sneaker inspired fire fights,

Liquor stores, cheap whores, serial killers keeping score,

Money madness, chemical gladness, suicidal sadness,

Fast thrills, utility bills, toxic chemical spills,

Crack dealers, soul stealers, carnival fire-eaters,

Garbage men in Pierre Cardin dancing in the winter wind,

Acid dreams, obscure scenes, cars passing in between,

Rebellious fire, hot desire, the world at the end of a wire,

Insane dreams, dying scenes, traffics timeless screams,

Compassion, out of fashion, feelings in traction,

Depression, recession, endless mindnumbing concessions,

Out of breath, wish for death, lose yourself in regret

No time to catch your wind, before it starts all over again.

True or false, fact or fiction, insane contradictions,

Run the race, keep the pace or fall flat upon your face,

Frantic action, dissatisfaction, reflection and reaction,

Lose to win and win to lose,

No one gets to choose.

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A Day in Suburbia

The plant down the street had an accident with nuclear fission,

Something is wrong with the Pinto's transmission,

There's a documentry on the tube about Viet-nam,

There's a letter in the mail from Billy Graham.

I don't care for spiritual awakening,

It's just another drug that people are taking,

That makes the load easier to bear,

So they mow their lawns and cut their hair.

There is a big meeting of the P.T.A.

They want to ban books that make kids gay,

They gather at the river to burn their intellect,

So that dangerous ideas won't infect.

What is it so dangerous to learn,

That they would rather see burn?

Could it be that people might see,

That it is possible to think and be free?

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Bigot Alert!

Suburbian Daddy is not a nice person.

Stay with this poem to the end.

You'll understand.

Suburbian Daddy

Jews, junkies, mental flunkies,

Fags, and all sorts of freaks,

Every day they get more spunky,

They even walk the streets.

Geeks and freaks and fags and drags,

Is this really modern progress?

Not that I could give a damn,

As long as I am a success.

Every day I retreat to the ?burbs,

Away from the slime and the scum,

To where everything is as it used to be,

And I won?t get hasseled by bums.

Back in the day before the decay,

Laid waste to the world I had known,

Everyone looked and thought the same,

Before the collective mind was blown.

In my suburban hideaway,

Safe from the world and all of its strangers,

Safe with my ignorance and prejudice,

Insulated from the dangers.

Fear of change and the pain it brings,

Cowardice builds bigotry?s prison of lies,

Unless courage to escape is found,

You become what you dispise.

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Suburbian Mommy

Rolling along in her SUV,

Teaching her kids their ABCs,

Careful not to make any waves,

Making sure her kids are saved.

Cheeks of rouge and perfect hair,

Brightest of smiles and infinite care.

Soccer balls and stains of grass,

Always sweet and never crass.

Ever dieting to keep her shape,

Perfection is a heavy weight,

Over time it begins to wear,

Ever more difficult to bear.

Under her perfect mask,

In silent desperations grasp,

She can not cook or clean enough,

Perfections demands are mighty tough.

So mommy finds a little helper,

In which she finds a little shelter,

In valiums sweet embrace,

Or a vodka slumber into grace.

At first it is not such a bother,

Who could begrudge a nap to their mother?

It helps her make it through the day,

Perfection has a price to pay.

Slowly she slips away,

And sleeps away the entire day,

Nothing matters much anymore,

To the kids she?s just a bore.

Things fall apart ever faster,

Mommy has a brand new master,

Perfection now fades into the past,

Mommy is lost in a deep shot glass.

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Hash, speed, downers and cocaine,

All useful for easing the pain,

Acid, booze, valium and weed,

Helpful for when you feel the need.

But what is it that you really want?

Does it even have a name?

Is it pain or loneliness,

Or someone else to blame?

Can you even talk about it,

That pain inside your head?

Can you name the nameless fear,

That fills you so with dread?

Do you really want an answer?

To that which you already know.

Be careful, you might be human,

A few emotions might even show.

Stagger to work and sleep throgh class,

Finding solace at the bottom of a glass,

When you can't take the pain,

Take some more and shut down your brain

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Goths and geeks and nerds and junkies,

Jocks and brains and preps and flunkies,

In their head and in their class,

Cookie cutter identities with a hall pass.

Cults and schools with their own rules,

Stoners and thugs and plain old fools,

Each with their place within the order,

Careful to stay within their borders.

Where do you go when you don?t fit,

Within the lines, within this shit?

Do you dare to deviate?

Do you dream to be great?

What does it mean to upset the order?

Dare you step across the borders?

To break these stupid unwritten laws,

That keep us in their feudal thrall.

Break the chains that bind in pain,

The greatness that lies within,

Do you dare to risk angry derision,

By stepping outside your subdivison?

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