Sunday, May 29, 2011

Gil and George: Get It Together

Press "play." These dirty words are not televised.

a mash-up of

"The Revolution Will Not Be Televised"
Gil Scott-Heron
"A Modern Man"
George Carlin

You will not be able to stay home, brother. I'm a modern man, digital and smoke-free; a man for the millennium. You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.

You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip, skip out for beer during commercials, because the revolution - a diversified, multi-cultural, post-modern deconstructionist; politically, anatomically and ecologically incorrect - will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox in four parts without commercial interruptions. I've been uplinked and downloaded, I've been inputted and outsourced.

The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary. I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie Wood and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia. I'm a high-tech low-life. A cutting-edge, state-of-the-art, bi-coastal multi-tasker, and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond.

The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal. I'm new-wave, but I'm old-school; and my inner child is outward-bound.

The revolution will not get rid of the nubs. I'm a hot-wired, heat-seeking, warm-hearted cool customer; voice-activated and bio-degradable.

The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, brother. I interface with my database; my database is in cyberspace; so I'm interactive, I'm hyperactive, and from time to time I'm radioactive.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run, or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance. Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, riding the wave, dodging the bullet, pushing the envelope.

NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32 or report from 29 districts. I'm on point, on task, on message, and off drugs. I've got no need for coke and speed; I've got no urge to binge and purge. I'm in the moment, on the edge, over the top, but under the radar. The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers in the instant replay. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom-feeder.

There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps, I run victory laps.

There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving for just the proper occasion. I'm a totally ongoing, big-foot, slam-dunk rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic, a working rageaholic; out of rehab and in denial.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and women will not care if Dick finally gets down with Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people will be in the street looking for a brighter day. I've got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant, and a personal agenda. You can't shut me up; you can't dumb me down. Because I'm tireless, and I'm wireless. I'm an alpha-male on beta-blockers. The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock news and no pictures of hairy-armed women liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose. I'm a non-believer, I'm an over-achiever; laid-back and fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home; low-rent, high-maintenance. I'm super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built to last.

The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb, Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth. A hands-on, footloose, knee-jerk head case; prematurely post-traumatic, and I have a love child who sends me hate-mail. But I'm feeling, I'm caring, I'm healing, I'm sharing. A supportive, bonding, nurturing primary-care giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I take a short position on the long bond, and my revenue stream has its own cash flow. The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds, I watch trash sports. I'm gender-specific, capital-intensive, user-friendly and lactose-intolerant.

You will not have to worry about a dove in your bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl. I like rough sex; I like tough love. I use the f-word in my e-mail. And the software on my hard drive is hard-core—no soft porn.

The revolution will not go better with Coke. I bought a microwave at a mini-mall. I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast food in the slow lane. I'm toll-free, bite-size, ready-to-wear, and I come in all sizes. A fully equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically proven, scientifically formulated medical miracle.

The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath. I've been pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped and vacuum-packed. And I have unlimited broadband capacity.

The revolution will put you in the driver's seat. I'm a rude dude, but I'm the real deal. Lean and mean. Cocked, locked and ready to rock; rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow; I ride with the tide, I've got glide in my stride.

The revolution will not be televised driving and moving; will not be televised sailing and spinning; will not be televised jiving and grooving; will not be televised wailing and winning.

The revolution will be no re-run brothers; I don't snooze, so I don't lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty, and lunchtime is crunch time. I'm hanging in, there ain't no doubt, and I'm hanging tough.

The revolution will be live. Over and out.


  1. nice. sad day in the passing of gil...

  2. wow- thanks for posting this...quite the raging poet is GSH...amazing stuff

  3. Sorry, not being too familiar with either of these entities, the original cleverness of this juxtaposition was a little lost on me. I get it now. Clever and poignant.Yeh I like rough sex and tough love and definitely use the 'f' word in my email. Really must get into more Carlin he wasn't big over here but the more I hear of him, the more I like it.

  4. Don't know Scott-Heron, but I can surely pick out the Carlin in this. He often spoke my innermost feelings right out loud. And wasn't struck by lightning, which was encouraging.

  5. History has taught us that Revolution happens out in the streets. YATBAFOTH,Yes? -J

  6. "I'm new-wave, but I'm old-school; and my inner child is outward-bound." YES YES YES!

    This was so clever. A cliche party with appetizers of advertisement. An upper cut with a round house kick for good measure. Ding ding ding. Round one goes to...

    Revolution is happening daily. Televised? Ha. They only televise bullshit.

  7. It might not be televised but appropriately enough it is coming via YouTube.

  8. Gil and George will make a great 2-man team of doormen at the pearly gates.

    Lorenzo — Alchemist's Pillow (for some reason, I can only post comments as Anonymous)