Obsidian Eagle's Blasphemous Bazaar - author central, anti-poetry, indie author

Obsidian Eagle's

Blasphemous Bazaar

META-Poems For A New Millennium

<br>META-Poems For A New Millennium<br><br>

The Flagship of Anti-Poetry — est. 2010 (Author Central)

Counter-Culture Failure

"And as this fake world grew, all of us went along with it, because the simplicity was reassuring. Even those who thought they were attacking the system — the radicals, the artists, the musicians, and our whole counterculture — actually became part of the trickery. Because they too had retreated into the make-believe world, which is why their opposition has no effect and nothing ever changes."

~ Adam Curtis; prologue to HyperNormalisation

Counter-Culture Failure

Artists have become complicit with the spectacular aspects of commodification. All talents are now coopted in service to capitalistic enterprise.

Fatalistic as it may sound, there isn't any chance for an effective revolution to overthrow this system ... Its roots reach too deep into the collective unconscious.

Inertial tendencies have been inculcated in us since infancy. Everybody's parents and even grandparents were ensnared long before our arrival.

The nature of the beast is that it has already assimilated any resistance to its preponderance.

Dissenting voices find themselves drowning among a cacophony of competing choruses. Yet national anthems define the terms of engagement.

Fine art is presently naught but skillful seduction; a well-polished reflector obfuscated by wispy vapor.

Its finest offerings adorn the towering edifice of traditionalist establishment. Hollywood holds sway over the untrained mind.

Glitter and glamour bedazzle beholders more than Huxley's 'Moksha-Medicine'. Banality brings spectators together, while larger than life superstars subvert their individuality.

Such impressionable peons get grinded under industrial gears set in motion to demolish public doubts:

"Keep your faith in wealthy figures, because surely they must know what's best for all involved!"

Spectre of The Spectacle

"Understood in its totality, the spectacle is both the result and the project of the dominant mode of production. It is not a mere decoration added to the real world. It is the very heart of this real society’s unreality. In all of its particular manifestations — news, propaganda, advertising, entertainment — the spectacle represents the dominant model of life. It is the omnipresent affirmation of the choices that have already been made in the sphere of production and in the consumption implied by that production. In both form and content the spectacle serves as a total justification of the conditions and goals of the existing system. The spectacle also represents the constant presence of this justification since it monopolizes the majority of the time spent outside the production process."  

~ Guy Debord; The Society of The Spectacle (1.6)

Spectre of The Spectacle

It's a whale of a tale

And it swallows us whole:

Spewing up our worst parts

During low tide on a shoal.

Lies give rise to a paradox

Lying patient in wait.

Eye spies news from FOX

Gravitas loses weight.

Yet you follow like a flunky

Lackluster as any lackey.

Roll over boy, play dead;

Butter up our daily cred.

They just cut into your jam —

Protests now won't seal the dam.

So sick and tired of this gore ...

Not going to take it anymore!

Paraphrasing (for dummies):

In every time and place throughout human history, people have been beguiled by outward appearances. Despite how much our wise ones stress that "things aren't always as they seem", the point rarely sinks in.

Never has this been truer than at present (although this is also ever the case). There is an implicit assumption that if an authority figure says something on television or Twitter then it can be taken at face value. A subconscious supposition articulated by Debord: "What is good appears. What appears is good."

Ignorance of academia, historical forces, science, statistics, etc. are running rampant because the species is held in thrall by its own fanciful projections. Entire generations have been and continue being born into this mire of delusion and deception.

Few and far between are the earnest seekers who cross-reference and research multiple sources; not merely what they like or wish to hear. Fewer still are those who recognize that our memetic machinery requires nothing short of a thoroughgoing overhaul.

May tomorrow's youth succeed in overthrowing Mammon once and for all!



"They" (you know who)

Prop you up

Just so they

Can knock you down.

Yes they'll drag

Your good name

Through the mud

And burn an effigy.

Media outlets shall

Unleash smear campaigns

To stain what was

Once thought untouchable.

Atlantean artifacts dismantled

Taken apart

Brick by brick

With grubby paws.

But have no pause,

The net trolls

Are upon us —

Push them back!

Shove elbow then fist

Combo flick of the wrist

Combat tooth and nail

Until bitter end.

This here is

The Great Tribulation

Death of a nation

Too late to pray.

There will be

No salvation

Only starvation

Plus denigration

Of social mores.

There's a fox

In the henhouse;

Let slip dogs of war ...

Makwil Cuetzpalin (rare trilingual edition)

Makwil Cuetzpalin

E aqui Tonal

(un destino propio)

El mero proposito de esta existencia.

Hoy mismo se quebrara la primer regla

Ante todas las demas:

Si no sabes cual

Pues es porque no

Investigas suficientemente;

El numero cinco ha sido y siempre sera

Gran pentametro

De nuestra quintaesencia comun —

Un nombre del hombre en exilio desde Eden.

And on the fifth stave

An immense, jet-black Aquila hatched

From gone feathered serpent's crystalline egg.

Et le lendemain soir

Il est monte au clair de lune

Apres le coucher du soleil ...

Tonatiuh bajo

Al inframundo ~ en su puesto subio otro.

Con llamas tan agudas, que hasta siegan los malvados!

[ Nahual ItzQuauhtli sembro el sexto sol ]

Day-sign Macuilli Cuetzpalin (fifth lizard) corresponds to the author's date of birth.

Echo-Chamber Chant

 "I study social media. Which means that to a first approximation, I watch people argue." 
~ Clay Shirky

Echo-Chamber Chant

(Rhythm: Calypso Andante)

Yelling in a tin can

Imbalanced between yin and yang

One can't be right all of the time

Our two cents aren't worth a dime

Opinions are like sphincters

Too vulnerable to pranksters

If you feel that facts don't matter

Then you're madder than a hatter

Quit craving biased confirmation

It's all just monkey imitation

What we think is nothing major

Stunted thoughts like a teenager

The Fake News has taken over

It's better now to run for cover

There's no wiz behind the curtain

Let's accept Being uncertain

* Repeat it ad absurdum *

Auto-Critical Critique

Auto-Critical Critique

For starters: this writer usually adopts the voice of an entire chorus; a stance that wears on one quickly. Royal We remains prevalent but the first person is frustratingly nowhere to be found!

His compositions are topical and tend toward metaphysical abstractions, which hold only loose relations to their titles. That is likely the result of having read too much John Donne or Andrew Marvell.

Additionally, there is an acrimonious overuse of verbosity running throughout his strident phraseology. Prosaic sentences seem to go on indefinitely while poetic dalliances devolve into nothing more than drivel.

Alliteration becomes campy deconstruction ~ Punctuation is eccentric to the extreme — following a logic all its own¡ Grammarians would wince as arrant arrogance flies in the face of traditional technique. Here even rhyming rings untrue due to syncopated timing ...

Such pretentious devices instantly turn off most readers. Yet for some unexplained reason, their forced application seems altogether deliberate. Perhaps said fact corresponds to the conceited claim that this is indeed "Anti" Poetry.

Regardless, he will never amount to anything in a world where book sales mark success. Long gone are the days when people actually analyzed writing and considered it an artful pursuit. With attention spans waning away rapidly, each l e n g t h e n e d letter hammers another nail into his categorical coffin.

* clang - clang - clang *



~ Operand at the periphery ~

Like Don Giovanni's opera

It gives rise to an epiphany:

Bridging wide gaps within

A rich binaural symphony.

So let the players sing and

Take you by both tympani.

Such scores are highly rated

Among the annals of infamy.

Donna Elvira love him not —

For he goes beyond polygamy:

Over two-thousand bodices

Removed in crass indecency!

Even statues spring to life

Moved through sheer indignity.

Audiences are often duped

By the libretto's filigree;

Thinking it has something to do

With inborn nobility or pedigree.

The evanescent is nascent mid torment ...

Image: Don Giovanni Dragged Into Hell by Pietro Bini (1796).

Gruß Vom Krampus!

Gruß Vom Krampus!

Jolly old Saint Nicholas?
An outdated yuletide hymn —

With more naughty brats than e'er
This season's ripe for him ...

Christ-Mass eve approaches;
Come now feared old goat,

Quit flipping those channels
(Give up that darn remote).

It's all commercials anyhow
After the clock strikes twelve:

Advertising crap to wrap
Like woeful workshop elves.

So stuff these stockings full of coal;
Bad boys and girls beware —

He'll spank you with birch branches
Or box your ears mid-air!

Johnny wants an iPod touch,
Susy's dreaming of VR.

Nellie thinks a 'Selfie Mic'
Will make her a big star.

As for us with half a brain
We still need to smarten ...

Send out our reminder
Via vintage Krampuskarten!

Image: And the Children Shall Inherit the Earth (Krampus) by Chris Buzelli.

Digital Shamanism

Digital Shamanism

Well if you must use the Facebook™
Make sure it aids in Recapitulation.
Nothing doing online
Among disillusioned Dreamers.
Where be the seasoned Warriors?
(They don't conform to techie patterns).
Out here all anyone ever hears
Is a whole lot of dissonant Tonalities;
Butthurt arguments born of indulgence,
Sentimentality and hypersensitivity.
So strap on your #VR Headset
Let's traverse this silicon tundra ...
Ignite some sage grass or incense.
Fling open the Windows® of perception!
Mortality is a predator watching — waiting
To pounce upon those who are at unawares :o

Image: Don Juan Matus & Carlos Castaneda

The Tidal Wave

The Tidal Wave

Doesn't matter how elaborate your sand castles might be
It will soon come and wash them all away ...

El Niño & La Niña stir up whirlpools as they frolic;
It won't be long now 'til high tide floods the bay ...

A lone monarch butterfly flutters its wings against Boreas
Then a hurricane hurries to buffet the quay ...

Submarine earthquakes shall unleash huge tsunamis
So no number of sandbags can secure their delay ...

Primary wave smashes clear past the shoreline
Of what civilization felt fit to flaunt on display ...

Dragged by currents, drowning within torrents
Underside of an iceberg shows us on our way ...

Submerged in the sea we should finally see
That seam between daylight and dream, isn't what it may simply seem!

Chaotic Neutrality

Chaotic Neutrality
Am within the world
But ain't of it . . .

So hey, whaddaya say
We let the chips fall
Wherever they may?

Roll the Icosahedron

What Heidegger called
The "Thrownness of Dasein"
And Wittgenstein suggested
To "pass over in silence".

You can bet Plato's pharmacy
Along with its uppers and downers
That King Thamus is rolling in his crypt.

In this script, pretense at truth is indescript.
Slip through the chutes but climb the ladders.
Shuffle your deck; dealing out only what matters.

Few conjugations are gaudier
Than cellar door painted azure!



Within the inverse universe
Altered states are at their worst.

Prime Directive may come first
But in a second, creeps bloodthirst.

Opaque looking glass doth stain
Another pane replete with pain.

It may strike one as insane
But think it over — wrack thy brain!

If Memory Alpha serves its function
We can repeat without compunction ...

Kill the lights and chant an injunction:
Reflector merry — merits expunction!

Pronounced Machiavellianism

Pronounced Machiavellianism

Swoons the pointy tip of dark triad;
Fell shadow side that alters one's arrow.

Amoral machinations might madden the mighty
Like an upstart principality that shirks legality.

For a Prince should rather be feared than revered.
Thus bend falsified truths, with unflinching impunity.

Dominance writes itself a blank cheque
From morally bankrupt foundations.

An invisible hand moves over the face
Of those whose eyes are always veiled.

Everything comes down to meaning nothing
Within such a bizarro scenario ...


Suggested Settings:



Let's engage in a productive waste of time;
Confusing to one's taste buds
Like a slice of sweet key lime.

Organized chaos thrives
Online throughout the web.
Cracking tasteless jokes
Like an aristocratic pleb.

Acting cruelly to show compassion is
Contradictory as a rich man wearing rags
Then setting off a brand new trend in fashion biz.

So hold what's left and write
From center of prefrontal cortex.
Cause bears forth its own effects
While old wrongs are all aright.

These sharps may be retarded — thus they cleave in manner trite!


Potboiler (noun): a mediocre work of literature or art produced merely for financial gain.


Number NONE on the New York Times Bestseller List!

Featuring lilliputian lingo fit for limited engagements

But that's not all —

Order now and we'll throw in some acid-leaking batteries

Completely free of charge.

Anyway, what's most important is for low brow content

To become so commonplace that not a soul complains.

Such pandering will surely increase our market share

And please the Board of Infesters.

We stand at the verge of a Bravo Nouveau Weltanschauung!



Seven for the Pleiades —

Sister stars of ancient lore.

Some think to call them home

(others think a little more).

Seven were the wonders

Of the world in ages past.

To day they've been updated,

But short term memories don't last.

Seven notes of melody

Comprise all tonic scales.

Infinite variations give us

Endless sonic tales.

Seven sins prove deadly

For those lacking self-control.

Get to know your triggers,

Or the outcome won't be droll.

Seven are the Chakras;

Vortices of vital breath.

Meditate on these and see

Horus vanquish Seth!

Seven senses function

If a dreamer is wide awake.

Sixth be the so-called psychic,

Seventh: uncoiled ethereal snake.

Seven seals will break

When Judgment Day arrives.

Then we'll know who excelled

Or erred by wasting precious lives ...

Verb Boss City

Verb Boss City

Nobody wants to hear it;
Tiny brains cannot bear it —

Any outpour of adjectives
Accompanying their respective
Subjects to achieve a higher objective.

They were once believed to be blessings
Of superlative bliss, but lately
Sunny ideas meld together

While choral nocturnes
Turn into perverse 
Techno trysts.

Red tail-lights pulsate
Like plasmic irony through
The autobahn's main artery.

Penthouse apartheid
Scrapes skies overhead
Because Phobos hates hoboes.

Gilded cage suits the socialite parrot ...
However, a Jack Hare won't chase that carrot!

Image: Urban Bunny courtesy of Laura Heikkala.

Non-Standard Disclaimer

Non-Standard Disclaimer

The preceding is an unpaid Badvertisement
Wherein you (henceforth, "the readers")
Are subject to the terms and conditions
Of disservice delineated herein:

We (henceforth, "the writers")
Will not condescend to dumb down
Our message, which is the essence
Of this antipoetic license.

The readers will be given consideration
Only insofar as they are willing and able
To interpret these overstatements
With a perceptive or receptive mindset.

Subterfuge such as sarcasm, satire, and simile
Shall be utilized to outwit even the savviest
Swashbucklers slogging through this boggish
Assemblage of piss-poor penmanship.

Although the readers may not buy it
All sales are final; in other words
There are no refunds to be given
For the minutes you have now wasted ...

Console yourself with promotional code: NEVER-AGAIN!



* Except on Wall of Worthies
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