Blissful Oblivion

#Philosophistication 

Blissful Oblivion

Out of my mind, out of my mind.

In a box cuddled by the dark,

follow the stream of consciousness,

ride the ark, follow the waves to

wherever the promised land we

shall reside, embark to a place where

hellhounds are meant to bark,

flash my pages into a drainage pipe.

Aging lumps of sentient dust, 

I've grown too frail and too odd

to analyze the grains of your grime,

to marvel at your form when it rains

and you become mud, I've been a 

child dancing around the anthill,

toenails inhabiting your filth, you've seen the

path I walked...from a plain sight,

the wailings you heard through the

perspective walls, through the words

you heard my bones and joints coil,

cover me with tinfoil, the life I give

words needs to ooze less, I've been 

sighing out forms, I've been creating

Frankensteins through verbal gore,

god or peasant of lore, destroyer of

laws, Friedrich Nietzsche deformed,

Sigmund Freud facing symptoms of

libido loss, meditative rigid thoughts,

dementia stricken moth, feeding on

anything; I've entered the seventh

floor where theses are mere expressions

of everyone's chaos, where you lose

meaning and meaning loses your thoughts,

loosen the screws, bring hammers and nails,

restructuring of the self, lost in a mirage,

voluntary blindness from both the

matrix and the true context, detached

from all, marvel at everyone's fall,

call the coroner or the caretaker;

we're everywhere at the end of time,

splattered everywhere, bloody and all,

ideas and thoughts leaking out, 

screamers have awakened us.

Sin a scene of seeing other people's

nakedness, the Godhead searches

for your presence.

When prose or a poem seems lukewarm,

rather difficult to form a thought for,

that is the pathway to a truthful thought,

borrow me a lifespan to rewrite the

words that govern us all, in limbo

marvel at the crimson moonstone, this is the

Kremlin where we contemplate with

Kronos on chaos, crime and time, firey

oblivion enfumed by chime.

We have lost the path, we walk through

corridors of conspiracy and downright

dead philosophies, maybe the world

is good and we're the brooding grumps

awaiting a false apocalypse, wide open

your lips, no wise sonnets are released,

it's ranting and shouting, no truth

in all the noise, true truth might

be silence, we have grown mental,

we're stagnant vegetables, heads

of cabbage claiming your mindsets 

are tainted, the emancipation of the

madman, the proclamation of the saviour

being a political puppet perpetuating

propaganda for political elections,

it's the wrong way we're taking, it's now

truth and falsehood violating our

conceptions, it's doctors claiming

the pharma needs covid corpses

as manure to plant a new world order

authority, it's the claim of marshal law,

the pandemic is a hoax?

The audacity of most. Now that you've

reached my form, now that the craziness

has become your norm, wear a mask

and join the grand scheme of things,

revolutionise your thoughts, turn your

mindsets into intellectual property,

obliged and so desperate to be part of

something more, Che Guevara is your

comrade, so start rading the system

for the truth and post it on a Facebook page,

become a cute mercenary selling your

divine knowledge to peasant man, 

these pheasants, doves waiting to be fed,

eyes glowing, maybe true purpose

poses with a cardboard written some

provocative words, stand for something,

stand for something, highness standing above

the Yosep table; but nothing at all

is understood, while some of us yawn under

the table, they dissect the cosmos 

with their fragile intellectual background.

Sleep sound, this oblivion is blissful,

the dead die desperately disputing

their claims of the disease being

a direct dose of divinity, predators

only perish, it's the Yeshua arrival,

it's the Q and A, the Questions I

own need no Qanon to queeble 

and be a choir caressing my weakness

for an evangelical enjoyment, it's

a quagmire in this quarantine,

it's a quif of a false consciousness,

it's a checkmate, you've become

partners with the system, you've

been sabotaged, messianic minds,

thoughts fogged with dust, it's a dark

mist, most are meandering martyrs

waiting to die for a man twisting

fingers on keyboards, the true 

tremor begins now as we use 

a tumor to think, our existence is futile,

wear your regalia.

What if truth was never meant to

be a trendsetter, what if truth is

never meant to be a revolution,

what if truth is meant to coexist

with a lie and your truth should

stay that way, as truth to you,

let others find it if needs be,

for true truth doesn't need to be

marketed for...

Blissful Oblivion, let us all dance and

step; left-right cha cha cha,

embrace our oblivion and move to

the sound of the chaos and the

voices...

Expressions of Everyone's Chaos!

By Eugene 'Philosophisticater'

Artwork by Boris Groh

℗ Philosophistication Poetry ℗

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