"while the NASDAQ Drops"...a poem after Allan Ginzberg's HOWL is the latte
generations lyric expression of existential angst......

 > I saw the best minds of my occupation destroyed by venture capital,
 > burned-out, paranoid, postal, dragging themselves through the Cappuccino
 > streets of Palo Alto at
 > Dawn looking for an equity-sharing, stock option fix, HTML-headed
 > Web-sters coding for the infinite broadband connection to
 > that undiscovered e-commerce mother lode in the airy reaches of IP
 > namespace,who poverty and ripped Yahoo tee shirts, cubicle-eyed and wired
 > on Starbucks sat up surfing in the virtual ether of
 > one-million-dollar,one-bathroom condos next to the railroad tracks,
 > skipping across the links of killer Web sites contemplating ... Java,who
 > rammed their brains into compilers and saw Intel angels staggering on
 > microchips under the insane weight of investor expectation,who blew off
 > the search for Truth for as-yet-undreamed New Economy scams, business
 > models hallucinating infocapitalist messiahs on clouds of market cap, who
 > abandoned lucid dreams of a Better Way for Shockwave fluff and RealAudio
 > baubles dangling from the buggy venality of digital
 > commerce, who, while haunted by the scowling ghosts of hackers past -?
 > Stallman,Nelson, Engelbart ?- auctioned their immortal souls on eBay, with
 > documentation and a full year of support included, of course, who got
 > busted in their spotless Nike cross-trainers traveling through cyberspace
 > with a file of illegal crypto for Open Source, who ate sushi in Austin or
 > drank microbrews in Silicon Alley, jousting with bad mojo funk of layoffs,
 > Chapter 11, or diluted company stock night after night, who chained
 > themselves to start-ups for the endless ride from San Jose to Wall Street
 > on adrenaline and Evian, laptop batteries flaming out over
 > Oklahoma, no more vegetarian entrees, sir, would you like the latex omelet
 > instead?
 > endless nights of keyboard grinding and corporate microwave popcorn and
 > Jolt Cola until the noise of their own deadlines brought them down,
 > gawping, convulsing, mute, crushed beneath their own project plans,who
 > talked continuously about convergence and distributed control and
 > cluetrains and Y2K and extropians and Libertarians and Microsoft and Linux
 > and slashdot and wouldn't fucking shut up, who pointed their browsers at
 > Red Herring and Slate and Salon.com hoping against hope that somebody
 > might be able to make sense of the infinitely perverse, ball-busting,
 > soul-scorching, silicon-supernova black hole that kept them awake all
 > night every night and wouldn't let them alone long enough to find dates in
 > this lifetime, who tattoo'd and pierced and dyed and branded themselves in
 > a desperate act of self-mutilating cyber-hepster cool, all the while
 > wearing a suit and tie on the inside hey could never, ever take off, and
 > praying nobody would find out about the MBA, who renounced the smokestack
 > relics, the old guard and their father's Oldsmobile only to find that they
 > had been replaced by artifacts even less substantial, who chanted the free
 > market mantras of laissez-faire and techno-darwinism and Adam Smith's
 > invisible hand-job except when Big Bad Bill the Bully
 > Gates-of-hell came to take away their lunch.com -- and became Socialists
 > of Convenience.org, who stalked investment bankers through Bistros and
 > wine bars and martini lounges, begging pleading groveling for one more hit
 > of funding from the luminous check-book oh please oh please oh please ah,
 > Bill, you are not safe, I am not safe, and now we languish in the dot com
 > pressure cooker hoping for one last buzz of the old hallucinations. The
 > wrecked avenues, the sullied conduits, the pinched pipes of a quadrillion
 > dropped and ruined packets. The world wide waits, the denials of service,
 > the infinite hosts of hardcore farm-animal boredom, ghoulish domain-name
 > squatters jumping out from behind every virtual tree. These failed
 > revolutions, these paradigms lost, the end of Web Time, and P/E ratios
 > good to last the next thousand years. Dot com! Dot com! Dot com!
 >
__________
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