Featuring Jim Iholts!

Percolator, 217 N Stanton
Free Admission

It will be just  like when your grandpa showed you super 8 films of his summer at Boca Raton!

Except hopefully less boring and with slightly better poetry, no promises though!

Also showing:  Musical Beer Chairs a short by Krystal Oblinger and Sunday Morning Coming Down a short by Henry Arrambide.

Saturday July 23rd
8.00 PM
Percolator, 217 N Stanton
El Paso, TX
FREE ADMISSION!

19.00 hrs
Tuesday May 31st
Percolator, 217 N Stanton; El Paso, TX.
FREE ADMISSION

Workshop @ 6 PM
Mic opens @ 8 PM
Percolator, 217 N Stanton; El Paso, TX.
FREE ADMISSION

Workshop @ 6PM
Mic opens @ 8PM
FREE ADMISSION
Percolator, 217 N Stanton
El Paso, TX

I want to see the rain saturate and deteriorate
Skyscrapers and national banks to their bare metal skeletal existence
Let it enter the porous surface of the concrete
And watch oxidation work its magic on the building steel,
The imposing structure now suffers defeat
Expand and crack
Expand and crack
That the trembling beneath your feet makes you look up in amazement
A sight so welcoming, not one soul is cowering in a basement
Although the REIGN is over, the uncertainty has just begun
Like a fiend trying, fighting to stay clean
Where do we go
What do we do from here on out
Stop
Listen
Watch…
Crash
Crash like the NASDAQ did the economy some years back
And the clouds of dust from that ancient way of life
That once blanketed our hearts with fear
Now go billowing back into the–
Underground vaults exposing
An endless tunnel of gold
Serving as reminder of how cheap life was
And not cheap like some kind of salvation
But cheap like selling our souls never knowing its true worth
A labor so under sold, so over exposed
That the soul forgot its saving grace
All that was supposed to be cherished and to hold
Was discarded into the cold
In the name of the so-called grind
That element that rotted the mind and spun it out of control
Until all was lost before our very eyes
The needle got taken out of the vein
And the god that was once never to be spoken in vain
Now was forsaken
Its shrines of stained glass and golden walls of divine sensationalism
That once stood as religious permission for the Empire’s neo-colonialism
Now burned in its so-called sacred place, the realization that nothing is ever really safe
No amount of Bibles and holy water could ever put out the fire
Blazing in our hearts, the elements used to conquer us,
Our culture so far from us, how their religion simmered our souls in a great big melting pot
Ten percent left us homeless, how they preached god in vacant parking lots
Like their atrocities we must have forgot
How else can we explain how we allowed ourselves to rot
In the holy name of their greed, took elements of our divine beliefs
And stitched together christianity, pardoned themselves with “love thy enemy”
But none of which will ever bring back my ancient family tree
But why we blindly slaved to their imperialistic fantasy
That is something that is beyond me
And what legacy do we leave future generations
Who might just carry the mental capacity to break free from this hell-nation
With no leadership, what truth do they see about this capitalist dictatorship
If peace is ever looming, no nuclear fallout to wipeout its memory
What are we left with, what are we waiting for
To what depths of our imagination can we explore
The realms of our mind
The extension of our humanity
A future void of advanced technology
The community becomes the new social network
And as the dust settles, as nature detox’s herself
From the corporate pollution that terminated
Our children’s children’s ancestors,
We will lay a rebuilding foundation to a new way
Of life, learn from the mistakes of the past
Financial empires buried deep beneath the original landscape
New York waterways sink Wall Street into forgotten memories
Not even a chapter in Earth’s history,
Mother Nature just re-wrote history.