© Alan Reade, 1992 and 2020
      View the Show Notes


      Satellite Dish













      I Saw It On TV

      I saw it on TV so it must be true.
      I saw it on TV so it must be you.
      I watched her say it--she said it right to me.
      How many people in this room?

      I saw a bunch of people covered in some blood,
      And it looked like a bunch of flower petals
        Scattered across the mud.
      So much crying, so much dying;
      Dying looks very real.
      How many people in this room?

      She said:

      I'm the Queen of Satellites;
      Gonna bounce on down to you--
      Like an angel of light from heaven, baby,
      That's what I'm gonna do:
        I'm gonna save you....

      I saw a man shoot his wife on a show last night;
      And then another story came on about a
        Military pre-emptive fight.
      I can't remember which show it was--
        Maybe it was the news?
      So many channels switching now,
      Plus all those commercials too;
      Got the blues--
        I watch the news.

      She said:

      I'm the Queen of Paradise,
      A direct transmission to you;
      I slip in while you're ironin'
      So you never have to get the blues--ooh,
      I'm gonna bounce,
        Move,
            Shake on down;
      I'm gonna fill your screen with light;
      I'm gonna fly right into your house and give you love.
      It's for you--
        Only for you;
      From outer space and from your heart,
      Mixed signals are so true.

      I know you'd never say goodbye to me--
      I know you'd never say goodbye.
      I heard the door slam, but I know you'll return;
        So many people through this room.

      Paradise! (Half the price...)
        Paradise....



      Missiles, Syringes, and Office Towers (a homemade documentary)

      Missiles, syringes, and office towers:
      Symbols of our power and our powerlessness.
      Do you see the crumbling in our walls of defense?
      Or do you base your naked need on Wall Street evidence?


      We used to be cave-dwelling people--yeah,
      We used to live on the ground.
      But now we shoot up toward God and heaven
      With our penises unbound (sorry girls!).
      Up we go, up so high,
        Fueled by ideas of progress and an open fly.
      Ooh, baby, put that away--
      I must interject.
      I don't want to see your structure--
        If it's not erect.

      Because if it's not a cigarette,
        A doob, or a needle,
      It won't poke my brain into action;
      I need it stiff and cylindrical, baby,
      To drive me to satisfaction.
      Yes!

      Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,
      But I know just how insistent you are!
      Meanwhile, the sky rapes me,
      As those winged penises dump their fuel on me,
      So they don't explode on the runway.
      And these freeways are raging out of control--
      Where there's smoke, there's tire.

      Down comes the filthy cloud,
      Crowning the skyscrapers with dubious glory.
      And the eight-legged lawyers and the buzzing typists
      And the quick-crawling policemen
      And the nests of the shopkeepers
      All fade in the poison mist--
      Afterbirth from the baby we're creating.

      For this is what we fertilize--not earth, but air!
       Seminal waste is ejaculated skyward from factories,
        Cars, trucks, chimneys, mouths;
      Millions of particulate pseudo-sperm
      Vying for that ozone ovum.
      The Big Mama.
      The sky is opening her legs tonight!
      Get ready! Here's your big chance!
      Front-row seats!
      Do your dance!
      Dance!
      Dance!
      Dance!
      DANCE!

      Don't worry about penis envy anymore;
      Open up your silo,
        The farmland's backdoor.
      I said open it now!
      Yeah, up pops the missile,
      Peeking out like a fool's erection,
      Like a silver lipstick from hell.
      And out it shoots--it's a bigger one than we thought!--
        Into the Van Allen Belt, our tiny strip of
      Protection.
      Never to be seen in this place.

        Swallowed by the Womb of Space.

      This
      Is
      The story
      Of man's fight against gravity.
      In word and in deed, we plant our seed
        In all we can feel and see.
      We build and dismantle,
      We shoot and inject,
      We projectile-vomit our values and debts;
      We push it and we pull it,
      We hook
        And we pimp,
      So the BIG DICK of progress
        Will never go limp.