My mother was fond of referring to the Malvina Reynolds song "Little Boxes," which expresses much the same sentiment. It's possible that she just enjoyed saying "ticky-tacky." Mom's like that.
But every generation gets the anti-suburbia song it deserves, and I guess this is mine. It's okay, I guess. Do all John Cougar Mellencamp songs make reference at some point to young people with lots of potential realizing they're never going to have what they always assumed they were going to have, or is it just the ones I know, or just the ones that got popular, or what? 'Cause, frankly, that shit's getting kind of tired. Or hits too close to home. Something.
picture of public housing in Ixtapaluca, Mexico City via Future Feeder.
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He lives within a black neighbourhood, which gives a black man a black cat.
He has an intergovernmental enterprise by its front yard;
well, so, he has that.
And up there in the evening slop is the kitchen-cleaning woman.
He can regard her himself, and says,
"I think you could stop on a favorite clock," as he reminds his master.
However, that's America for you and me; oh,
that baby isn't to be seen. America is not something:
America isn't that free house.
Small pink houses for you and me.
A young man is there in a t-shirt role,
hearing a swinging station:
he must have smudgy hair, and a smudgy smile
He says, "Lord, it's my destination place."
Because they explained to me, when I was younger,
"Boy, you will be president."
But like everything, straight or otherwise,
those old dreams came straight, moved, and went crazy.
Wells are people there, and more people
know knowing, which they
go, in any high ascent. To work is to know.
Down in the gulf, there are Mexican holidays,
and winners. And there are losers,
but they're no large agreement, not
for the baby, because the simple man calculates, thrills, and pays for
those killing pills.