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Mar/Apr 2001 issue (#50)

Features

'60s Dream Lives On

Party Troopers

Suit Filed Against George W. Bush

"Friends in High Places"

Baby Bush Bombs Baghdad

Don't Put the Utilities Back in Charge

Biblically-Grounded Movements For Progressive Change In Washington

How to Run for City Council

Mad Cow: Coming to the U.S.?

Monoculture and Mad Cows

Itching to Ride Light Rail

Is Work Killing You?

Escaping the Globalized Gym

Seattle's Clattering Poets

A Puppetista Manifesto

Living Outside Empire

Don't Put the Utilities Back in Charge

ACORN's Falling

Social Transformation Explained? Technogod

Spokane Free-speech Battle

Regulars

Reader Mail

Envirowatch

Urban Work

Media Beat

Nature Doc

Rad Videos

Do Something!

Reel Underground

Technogod

©1996 by Karl Scheer

 

I am the god, Technology,

And science is my creed.

I know you all believe in me

Of proof I have no need.

 

Come, show me one among you

Without faith in my designs,

Whoíll not accept the orders

That I scream Ďcross telephone lines.

 

Who questions my hegemony

As the jumbo jet takes wing,

Or fails to praise my minions

When they cause the tires to sing?

 

Iíll make your job so easy

That youíre rendered obsolete,

But Iíll record your whimpers

As youíre crushed beneath my feet.

 

I can sell them to your children

With a techno-dance background

That they may know your helplessness

When you were still around.

 

Let the Amish dial their homepage

And the Luddites crush their hands

They may try to undermine me

But they will bow to my commands.

 

All you hippies on your farms

Lit by photovoltaic cells

You pretend Iím not your master

But you need the things I sell.

 

IBM, Electrolux,

The Macintosh and Ford,

Mere servants in my armory

Iíll kill them when Iím bored.

 

For boredom is my lover

She lures you to my lair,

Where I feed you endless everything

You neednít leave your chair.

 

The dreams of dreamers distant

And dreamers close at hand,

All these I can supply you

I donít ask you understand.

 

Your Buddhas sheathed in neon

Your Jesus on the air

Go on, believe they love you,

Iím not jealous, I donít care.

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