Obsidian Eagle's Blasphemous Bazaar - avant-garde poetics, indie publishing, nom-de-plume

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

Pandemic Dream Theater

Pandemic Dream Theater

The one where you're walking through the park with some random C-list celebrity that you normally don't even think about. Yet here they are, explaining life's great mysteries to you (more or less in your own words), while pushing around a cart full crap like a homeless person.

Or perhaps you find yourself in what appears to be North Korea, where jets drop deafening bombs on the mountainside, which shoot up tall geysers of dust that hang in the air for almost a minute. Then the Grand Matriarch arrives with her retinue of ladies and proceeds to publicly humiliate you in front of your friends and fellow tourists. You can't understand a word they're saying — but their meaning is made quite clear by the lash of bamboo against your bare back!

Elsewhere at another time, you're hanging a painting in an atelier when lo and behold, a pesky ex with whom you haven't had sex in many years walks in. They just stand there with a smug expression, which you do your best to ignore as you finish what you're doing. However, when they're about to leave, you can't help asking: 

"Excuse me, but have you gotten taller?"

"No, but I have gotten a lot richer!"

Your family (who've been sitting off to the side on some sofas the whole time) finds this very amusing and laughs loudly at your predicament. So you follow your old flame out the door and soon discover that they're in the middle of filming a movie somewhere nearby. You get offered a bit-part, which you accept. But since you outshine the other starlets in the studio — the director kicks you off set! Next thing you know, you're in an alleyway smoking joints with another out of work actor and reminiscing about your short-lived cinematic career.

Finally, there's that dream you dare not speak of for fear it may come true... A chartered bus comes to your neighborhood at the crack of dawn. Everyone's confused regarding what's going on, but both you and your neighbors are effectively herded onto the Greyhound by military men in black tactical attire.

A little later, you're all led single-file into what looks to be a factory facility. During the shuffle, you end up budding in front of your closest neighbor. Once inside, it soon becomes evident that this is no ordinary warehouse. You can hear the industrial whir of metal in the distance, although it's coupled with bloodcurdling death cries. These unnerving sounds only get louder while everybody winds down the corridors of a concrete labyrinth. Your palms begin to sweat and your heart pounds because sure enough, as you round the penultimate corner, blood splatters against the wall!

There's no escape; the guards make sure of it. The poor sucker in front of you tries to run but gets thrown into the abattoir against his will. The noise is sickening. Knowing that your fate is sealed, you turn to your neighbor with a shit-eating grin on your face and ask:

"So, do you want your spot back?"

You shrug off the guards and voluntarily step forward (legs trembling) into the buzzing blades — white light engulfs your senses 


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