shooting up silicon

From the plush office chair
I found out by the dumpster,
I can check the weather in Bangkok or Zaire,
skim the headlines of The New York Times,
or check the latest trends in gutter-punk hair

I can worship Jehova or Allah
or find reason to doubt,
or watch a school of hammer-heads wander about,
hear hundreds of free lectures from Oxford U.,
read and discuss Li Bai and Basho, too,
or find out if rumors about Tiger Woods are true

I can re-connect with high-school friends,
see how social stories sometimes end,
pick up blasted shreds of college days,
or watch familiar Shakespeare plays

I can listen to the hits of my post-Nirvana youth,
see naked lesbians or seek philosophical truth,
learn about maladies and possible mends,
or talk with strangers till we become good friends

Perhaps it's shooting up silicon,
but we all have addictions in this space-age dawn

Some are hooked on money
and some on luxury;
some worship the great T.V.
others some mighty deity;
some get high on whisky,
some on L.S.D.;
we all snort lines of cheap labor,
and drink petroleum wine
from the lovely coast of Louisianna