For Allen

Who are the best minds of my generation?
Who doesn't hitch anymore because we're scared of hick pig-stroking rapists,
and who doesn't hang out?
Who stares at colourful boxes and taps on little buttons and we don't drink on roofs, man.
Who aren't scared of our senators, because we're white, and the current Red Scare's brown?
Who sits on their ass 22.5 hours a day and waits for their little box to glow in the right way?
Who needs calcium pearls, micro-granules and accessorised under-arms, caffeinated make-up, good bacteria and Activium?
Who imbibes ceramides and emulsifiers, nanosome electro-cosmetics, and who takes trichologists seriously?
Who saw the funny side of campaigns for equality, who played the satirist, and who now is too young to get the joke?
Who's afraid to do acid in case they jump out of a window, and who's given up grass because it makes them scared?
Who has sex to make up the numbers, and when's the last time we felt 'as one'?
Who lives under the shadow of the eternal bad guy while we try to replace the freedom we've lost with cars, dolls, smoke and bitter subservience?
Who couldn't throw their watches from the roof of their schools because they had to get to class?
Who doesn't read?
Who pours scorn at digital light waves, and who hopes who will be voted out of their range of vision?
Who can't think of anything more erotic than to sweat in a deafening, poorly lit room, gyrating away the last ounce of their brains before they screw something their eyesight wasn't feeling sober enough to protect them from?
Who longs for millions in a pool, for electric gates, butlers and absolute isolation from the scum of their heritage?
Who's so petrified they need a 360 wide-angle videoview of the world which they can watch from behind glass panels?
Who forced young men into orange jumpsuits and herded them like cattle, chained, and ready to be ridden?
Who read 1984, and got a hard-on?
Who saw your great wave fall back, drowning and choking the hope from our parents and leaving them drones under a mundane queen bee?
Who danced under the light of a thousand streetlamps, spitting, pissing, cumming their last onto cider-stained sidewalk pavements and bus shelters?
Who ran away screaming when confronted with the unlabeled milk-bearing vessel, and who suddenly played the bard against poor plot and dialogue when they saw two cowboys kissing?
Who gave up on thinking representation matters?
Who swore their lives on freedom to ridicule difference, and convinced themselves their acts were noble?
Who demanded lower prices while the un-white world was whipped and beaten and then left to die in a pile of ticked off cuts?
Who threw in the towel of protest, convinced it didn't work?
And who sat in their room, wishing their life was like yours while steadfastly refusing to do anything, instead slowly decaying their minds with a steady stream of numbered boxes, shitty grass, rum, porn and trivial games?
Seriously man.
You've got to see it to believe it.