DON'T ANTHROPOLOGIZE TO ME, MARGARET!
If what you're looking for
Is sex, and how to get Samoa,
(Or how to treat your sweetie
In Tahiti);
If you're in the essence
Of pubescence,
And you're feeling finicky
About growing up in New Guinikea;
If you've ever gotten lesions
From Polynesians;
If your role as "female" or "male"
Is growing stale;
If your favorite cultural pattern
Resembles that of Saturn;
If you find your life delimitive
And you want to live as a primitive...
The only author you need
To read
Is Margaret Mead.
It can be no musty mystery
That trustees lured and made her
The curator
Of the Museum of Unnatural History.
WHY DO I GET NAUSEOUS JUST THINKING OF LIFE?
Jean Paul Sartre was an existentialist exponent
(Not an exponent like you find in math,
But one who was full of wrath
At existence, which was his opponent).
Sartre pointed out that everyone has the right to choose
During a life full of dread and despair,
But no matter what you choose, you lose...
And then you vanish in thin air.
This thinking recurred
In the Theater of the Absurd
And among the Beatniks -- in every gradation
Of alienation.
Then came cultural imperialism
With its godless nihilism,
Which led in turn
To the 60's phrase: "Burn, baby, burn!"
All that destruction is now found in the beat
Of rap music -- which is yelled on the street.
And rapsters have been stopped for stealing
While concealing
A gun.
As a matter of fact, there WAS one
Who was arrested last week by a peace officer:
All this because of some French philosopher!