If the revolution won’t be televised, why the hell are we watching TV?
Back in the day,
before 60-inch Plasmas pimped living rooms
and HD hypnotized
while Surround Sound
seduced eardrums into submission,
my first taste of “Heron” was named Gil Scott.
When that dope shit hit my brain stem,
I nodded-cuz’ like an addict,
I had just found paradise at the tip of a needle.
And when gloved fists were raised
on Olympic platforms, I stood tall and cheered-
My soulness was confirmed.
When a cat named Geronimo
finally walked free,
I strut a little-
cuz’ his freedom symbolized my own
and made me believe.
Didn’t need no TV for that.
Now Manhood Commercials,
Slingers and Bangers,
Hustlers and Hoes oversee our future.
All while we channel surf
and order pay-per view,
losing ourselves in Un-Reality TV
and mindless broadcasts
passing themselves off
It all makes me wonder:
Do we really WANT
were we all just waiting,
remotes in hand-
hoping Justin Timberlake would set it off
between Janet Jackson’s breasts?
© 2008 C. Highsmith-Hooks. All rights reserved.