I am (a Trot): what I am only loners care or know Friends and family forsake me like a mediocrity lost I am the non-consumerist self-consumer of my woes -- Degenerated and deformed worker states rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shadows in our sectarian, frenzied throes And yet I am (a Trot), and live to sell newspapers Amidst the nothingness of sectarian cult scorn and noise, Into the dead sea of totalitarian dreams, Where there is neither sense of non-cult life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of a Trot's life's esteems; Even ex-cult member "comrades" that I loved the best Are strange -- nay, rather stranger than the rest. I long for the Trot vision, where man hath never trod A place where good looking women never smiled or wept -- There to abide with the son and savior Lev Sedov And sleep as I through Trot speeches sweetly slept, A nuisance, and reveling in my endless lies, Trots will never be effective, despite their million tries.
ORPHANS It's the hard-knock life for Trots! It's the hard-knock life for Trots! ANNIE 'Steada earning, ORPHANS We work free ANNIE For our dead cult God ORPHANS Trotsky ALL It's the hard-Trot life! Joined a Trot cult long ago So it's the hard-Trot row we hoe! ANNIE Leading browbeatings ORPHANS 'Steada strikes ANNIE Tell the cult leader ORPHANS What he likes ALL It's the hard-Trot life! ANNIE Don't it feel like no one's reading our bullshit cult newspaper? KATE AND TESSIE Don't it seem like there's never any money? DUFFY AND JULIE Once a day, don't you wanna admit Curtis is a child raper MOLLY AND PEPPER It's easier to kowtow in an authoritarian political cult than try to do something worthwhile with your life. ANNIE No one's there when you realize Trots are creepy! No one cares if the cult grows . . . of if it shrinks. No one gets to drive the cult leaders expensive car. ALL >From all the hysteria you would think this place's a LaRouchite ego-stripping session! Ohhhhhh! Newspaper selling life! Browbeaten smelly life! Full of sorrow life! No tomorrow life! MOLLY Democracy we never see ANNIE A real payday, what's that, who's he? ALL It's just nobody's fault That we joined a commie cult MOLLY (Making pretentious sounds and imitating the Trot cult leader) You'll stay up till you have read all of my masterpiece "polemic" and have my bombastic drivel memorized! ORPHANS Put our leader in the Detroit Zoo Crash his BMW Why has he organized so few? Will he dream up something new? MOLLY (whistle) Get to work! (whistle) Sell them newspapers (whistle) I said get to work! ALL It's the hard-knock life for Trots It's the hard-knock life for Trots It's just nobody's fault That we joined a commie cult It's the hard-Trot life It's the hard-Trot life It's the hard-Trot life!
Should I be a Trot? Should I be a loser? Just like James Robertson, the Sparts' dissolute boozer? Don't go to university -- sell the cult newspaper talk about the bourgeois conspiracy and vote for Jerry White and campaign for Mark Curtis, the Trots' favorite child raper and watch my "comrades" get browbeaten and I understanding why not giving up on the commie faith saying Take it on the chin! It's great when our leaders stick it in! Instead go to four hour branch meetings and watch my bank account evaporate so the cult leader can buy a new BMW? When I'm invited onto the commie general staff after backroom discussions few have any knowledge why should I slave loyally in their slave plantation printing plant and not ask Where's this going? How else to feel other than a lobotomized Branch Davidian often thinking Super Trot comic books -- O how terrible it must be for a commie slave seated before an aggregate meeting and the "comrades" thinking Who is this middle class garbage really! Maybe he'll quit! After the cult leader's two hour rant they ask what I think of the cult's pet conspiracy theory. Should I tell them? Would they like me then? Say All right comrade, how about editing the youth paper that nobody reads -- And should I then ask Where's this going? O Man, and those summer camps! The international comrade flavors of the year all scroungy, you know nothing about them, like how the English cult leader smacked his daughter when she told him that a cult member molested her, he's our buddy, and everyone's all jacked up to hear the _lider maximo_ in his leather 3/4 length coat. And the national editor of the cult newspaper! he looking as if Number One just caught him masturbating, mouthing his agreed upon script "Yes, internationalism is the cutting edge of socialism," and most loser cult members trembling what to say say Pabloite Glue! I faithfully saunter up to denounce the internal enemy of the moment He's adapted to revisionism, Comrades! Bad-bad-bad! And in the leader's eyes you could see some psychotic, megalomaniacal fantasy going on -- St. Petersburg! 1903! I'm Vladimir Lenin! There will be Hordes of us! I will lead! All streaming in to hear the cult leader All thinking exactly the same thing, exactly what Number One wants them to think The big fat editor, he "thinking" what Number One wants The Moony zombie labor editor he "thinking" The chief of ideological purity "thinking" Brown noser #1, he "thinking" All the cult members thinking the same think! Number One can't believe it! There must be a revisionist there somewhere! Stay up all night! Stare the whole Central Committee in the eyes (except for the guy with the glass eye, that is) Screaming: I deny the renegades! I deny capitalism! barely skirting the climactic threat of expelling EVERYBODY yelling Trot belch! Coyoacan dust! O I'd stay in the cult forever! in a single room in a run down house in Oak Park, Michigan, with three forty-six year old men, beneath the overpass by the expressway I'd sit there, the Mad Sectarian devising ways to defeat Pabloism, a scourge of Morenoism saint of the split-- But I should be a Trot I should be a loser How nice it'd be to come home with my fifty bucks per week to some "comrade" screaming at another "comrade" about some imagined political failing, and the branch secretary screaming, "I'm more politically advanced than you!" And the treasurer so happy I sold twenty newspapers she pays me this week's wages in dollar bills and quarters instead of nickels and dimes and getting to see our "Presidential Candidate" yell at some rival cult member at Circle Campus Sylvia Franklin! GPU Hansen! Agent Barnes! Man, what a cult member I'd make! Yes, I should be a Trot! So much to do! Like showing up at strikes, not knowing what the hell's going on, covering the workers with leaflets calling their leaders sellouts Like getting spit on by workers trying to sell them commie newspapers like taking a Marxism class and screaming at the professor he's a Stalinist like when some rival Trot cult's newspaper woman comes to the house selling subscriptions grab her and tell her You killed our martyr in the 1970's! Like showing up at headquarters for a job as a "reporter," and finding out you're going to be a slave in the slave plantation printing plant instead! Yet if I should be a Trot cult member and they send me to Manhattan, and I get to hang out outside the New York Marxist School selling cult newspapers, even going inside after the lecture gets going, and I get to hear Daniel Singer and a panel of zombies drone on for three hours and say nothing Finding myself in the most glorious of commie situations bored out of my mind, exchanging dirty looks with some Spart selling cookies who said Gorbachev should be lynched O what would that be like! Surely I'd sell some worker making $9,000/year a lecture by Vadim Rogovin, or draw his attention to a review of the Toronto Film Festival, or follow the cult leader's scintillating "exchanges" with Richard Pipes. No, I doubt I'd be that kind of cult member Not Manhattan Leonard Street but hot, smelly tight South Side of Chicago, right down wind from a sewage treatment plant, seven flights up, roaches and roach spray and an old cult member political candidate having a stroke right there in the bedroom The Fat Reichian editor screaming over 'Cheers' on the TV set, "My sister sucks! She went to Swarthmore!" And five Australian "comrades" all telling me that a rival Australian Trot cult membership is just a bunch of perverts The branch secretary wants me write up some bullshit political failing Impossible to go to some South Sea Island and have sex with the one good looking student member in the whole sect. No! I should not be a Trot cult member I should never be a Trot cult member But -- imagine if I got to go hit up John Belushi for a $10,000 donation to the Vanessa Redgrave campaign Like Number One and the editor did awhile back Or what if the revolution succeeded, and all the people hated us but it didn't matter because we were powerful and I got a great job in the massive, totalitarian state apparatus until Number One got sick of our faction and had us all thrown into a Gulag or outright murdered? O but what about permanent revolution? I forget permanent revolution, not that the world commie fantasy is actually possible it's just that the idea is as odd as an acid trip I never really wanted to be a lumpenized, ex-middle class loser like Spart members, SEP'ers, SWP'ers, ISO'ers, WWP'ers And being Number One with a trust fund and a new BMW was always impossible And maybe there's Vanessa Redgrave, but she's really wacky, old, and inaccessible And the Freedom Socialist Party is totally full of losers But there's got to be some commie political cult! Because what if I'm 60 years old and not a member of a commie political cult all alone in a furnished room with pee stains on my underwear and .001% of the population is in commie political cults? All losers in a commie political cult except me? Ah, yet well I know that were Leon Trotsky possible as I am possible then being a commie loser would be possible -- Like LENIN in his lonely alien tomb waiting to come back to life if our cult leader tells him to so I wait -- bereft of the Trotskyite commie mindfuck and a country chock full of concentration camps.