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





Showing posts with label Prose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Prose. Show all posts

Interstate Studs

Interstate Studs



Three of us there, in our early twenties, during the late nineties. Standing outside the roadhouse restaurant, shooting the shit by the doorway. Tanned and tired from our long weekend in the woods.

Then that good looking girl came; a stranger in our midst. And she says: "Hi!"

We three respond as one: "Well hello."

She smiles radiantly before going inside.

"Do you know her?" Michael asks.

"No," Rami replies.

"Oh. Guess we're just a bunch of interstate studs then," Michael muses.

We break out in loud laughter!

This is all the heaven anyone ought to need...

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 


* WIDE AWAKE *

The Fallacy of Freedom

The Fallacy of Freedom


Sure you're free...

To OBEY the rules while coloring within suggested guidelines

But heaven help those who step out of sync and deviate from

Prescribed formats or formulas.


Even though there is always

A gulf between how things are

And the way that

They ought to be


Nine out of ten times

Eccentrics will get panned

Then tossed to the wayside

For odd æsthetic choices.


Yeah that's right,

We've got just enough wiggle-room

To make minor decisions

Before being pigeonholed —


By faceless conglomerates

Plus time-honored institutions.

Thus do "regular folks" become

Complicit in their own imprisonment.


Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

With all this implies.

So go on painting by number

Until you're trapped in a corner!

Outdated References

Outdated References


Those of us who grew up during analog days may recall that "Reality Television" wasn't a thing prior to the O.J. Simpson murder trial.

Common knowledge centered around the anarchic hotbed that was Waco, TX — where Koresh and his branch Davidians went up in flames when ATF and FBI stormed the compound.

Hence did Timothy McVeigh exact retribution in Oklahoma City with the largest domestic bombing preceding 9/11. Back then terror tended to be homegrown (before the state took charge as at present).

They were such times that Ted Kaczynski's mad ploy to draw attention to his "Unabomber Manifesto" dominated the headlines.

Anyway it was tough afterward to follow the heinous acts of one Jeffrey Dahmer (found guilty of cannibalism, to say but the least).

And who could forget Lorena Bobbitt cutting off her husband's manhood? Though it was surgically reattached and she acquitted by pleading temporary insanity.

Seriously, even an Olympic figure skater had gotten her hands dirty: Tonya Harding sent her man to club rival Nancy Kerrigan's leg.

Given these circumstances, we too might have wished that comet Hale-Bopp was indeed hiding an alien spacecraft coming to take us home; like the Heaven's Gate suicide cult.

It wasn't ALL BAD of course...  Woodstock '94 was a relatively chilled out relapse into late 60's grooving. Unfortunately, it was overshadowed by the more notorious Woodstock '99. However, that's another story from a former time!


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 such that it has already assimilated any resistance to its preponderance well beforehand.

Dissenting voices find themselves drowning among a cacophony of competing choruses. Yet national anthems still 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.

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

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

"Keep your faith in wealthy figureheads, because they must surely know what's best for society's collective investiture!"


Related Readings:



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 mere 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 *

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 hypersensitivity, overindulgence, &
Sentimentality.
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

Non-Standard Disclaimer

Non-Standard Disclaimer


The proceeding 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
Shalt 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: NOLENS-VOLENS!

Gematria

noun [guh-mey-tree-uh]: 
  • a cabbalistic system of interpretation of the Scriptures by substituting for a particular word another word whose letters give the same numerical sum.


Gematria


Hard as one may try
The letters and numbers
Cannot always match up.

Even friends mark mistakes
Expecting perfection itself —
Yet lacunae are left to fill.

They'll forget your prose
But recall rhyming cons;
Experimental camera obscured!

There's a broad disconnect
Between what's meant
And what's mentioned.

Much as one may like
Misinterpreted intention
Precludes them catching up ...


Translations:

 i. Numerology and prosody may mix, but isn't it nice to wing it once in a while?

ii. Everybody's a critic. Since we can't please most readers to begin with, why worry?

iii. In general, people fixate on a single facet of any artist's career. Many have neither the time nor mental capacity to slog through some no-name's portfolio!

iv. Self-explanatory (don't play dumb now).

v. There will forever be delays in communication between messenger and recipient. This distance distinguishes an erudite forward scout from a tongue-tied rearguard ...


Image: Master Mandala of Solomon, The King.

Meta-Poetics vol. 4: Remission Restatement

Meta-Poetics vol. 4: Remission Restatement


The professed goals of this present iteration of Anti-Poetry are hereby chartered as follows:

1. To exercise the English language to its full extent; exhausting every conceivable coinage within its written corpus while simultaneously crossing borders into neighboring lexicons like Franglais & Latin

2. To bring archaic and defunct terminology back into circulation, chiefly as celebratory "camp". Also to plumb every possible meaning for any taken term.

3. The recapitulation of rhyming schemes will be utilized for the purpose of introducing variations on classical meters and themes.

4. Challenging the normalcy of self-centered auteurs is imperative. There's an unspoken distinction between those who work only for personal benefit and anyone who actually advances our overall art.

5. Have no fear about fielding neologisms. Wright out original witticisms to further ludic logic.

6. Instill in writers and instruct readers on novel ways of verbal expression, especially regarding metaphysical impression.

7. Demystify poetics while demonstrating the sway that language often has us under due to unconscious tendencies.

8. Turn every old adage and proverb upon its head. Leave no stanza unturned!

9. Inject Etymology, Linguistics, Philology, and Semiotics to revitalize versification. Incorporate technology, for instance:
Right Justification.

10. Raise the bar for future generations by letting loose unmatched fléchettes!


Read the rest of this series -- > META-Poetic

The Fish Fry

The Fish Fry


There once was a fisherman who lived by the shores on the Sea of Idealism. He had a pretty young fishwife with whom he shared a humble abode. Each day he would dive down beneath the waves, harpoon in hand. He would bring back exotic catches and plenty pearls for her necklaces. She in turn, scraped scaly sparklers off fantastical fishes; removing gemstone guts with a saw blade aflame. They would then lay those flawless fillets onto a skillet over a shared inner fire. Their supper was such that even an Emperor would envy them.

One day, they decided to cast a trawling net from the back of their junkie boat. The translucent mesh spread out widely and sank deeply. At first it sat on the seafloor but shortly after they began to drag it along with the tugger. However, when the husband was pulling the net in, a merman appeared to his wife on the starboard side. He told her that this haul was a mere trifle compared to his own sub-sea riches. He spoke of a coral city decorated with mother-of-pearl. Lulled by his seductive spell, the foolish fishwife decided to defect. 

As he and she swam away in each other's arms, the merman sang a submarine song, which caused the sunny sky to darken with ominous cloud cover. Thunder, lightning, and rainfall conspired to create a perfect storm. It was not long before a massive tsunami came barreling toward the tugboat and swept the forlorn fisherman far off! The boat became driftwood on a remote island beachhead. Nonetheless, the fisherman had held fast onto the net as well as its exotic effects.

Henceforth commenced his solitary confinement. Although sweetest love had slipped away, he did at least become a better baiter and also built a second ship to mast her. Oh yes, he caught everything from the slickest swordfish to Nereids, whom brought news of scarcity fathoms beneath our fishnet caster.

So lonesome he prepared the fish fry at his own leisure; supping on wonders of the deeps yet also fasting now and then for good measure. Under a waxen moon, bioluminescent specimens surfaced to adorn his thousand seashell crown with undersea treasure!

The moral is: Cherish what you yourself conceive. Unlike the fishwife who sought the depths, only to be deceived!

Aquiline Ascension

Aquiline Ascension


Up on its aerie at the top of the world
It perches, plucking mottled plumes.

Arthritic talons, crimped from overuse
Shall have to be painfully pulled out.

Then even that dull rostrum will lie busted
Smashed against a freshly reddened rock. 

Days will pass. Weeks, months (maybe years).
Wintry winds will buffet a barely living body.

But gradually, feathers, claws, and beak grow back;
Which is when Eon Eagle heads forth thus renewed.

Swooping so swiftly as to part oceanic waters
Before arching skyward, into the bluest expanse!

Penetralia

Penetralia


Truth tellers recount happenings as accurately as memory serves

Whistleblowers point fingers to prosecute whom justice perturbs

Soothsayers may answer prayers when naysayers are unnerved

Axons conduct neural impulses to dendrites across synaptic nerves

Sensuality conveys more than possible for a writer's condensed blurb

Gather however much you can from what remains here unreserved

This meddling meter wears out its welcome—kicked onto the curb

Yet it's writ in decimal because such structures gleam superb

The town crier relays clear messages through voluble verve

In the end unjust ones gossip; spitting venom undeserved.

Image: Thrice-Great Hermes, Master of Mysteries.

Decadence Throughout The Decades

Decadence Throughout The Decades


Today's trendoid douche bags regard the 80's and 90's as the epitome of COOL.

Back then teens took their inspiration from the 60's and 70's.
So it must go on indefinitely in retrograde;
each generation admiring the best of what came before
while simultaneously rejecting tacky tradition and rebelling
against any oppressive state of affairs.

Thus we find ourselves reliving similar dramas
or reiterating those same likely stories
as our lamentably predictable predecessors
(at least insofar as hindsight reveals them).
Still we're unsure of how what's coming will differ.

A pattern appears to crystallize when we lay our eyes upon it...
Minute men worn by many years resist its advent:
Hegemony is leading us into the limbo of Homogeny!
Yet even within that oneness of identity conflict will persist,
because it's an inborn trait of mankind's fragmentation.

Upstarts rail at tried and true technique
old timers reminisce over some bygone golden era.
Monomaniacs criticize just to constantly rehash the same devilish details.
Everybody dwells on what formative memories have dictated for them.
Who would even notice the handbasket reaching hell?

Tomorrow's misanthropes already read this as a perennial quintessence!



Image: Kali (goddess of death and destruction) projected onto the Empire State Building by digital artist Android Jones. Many Hindus view our present time as Kali Yuga; the iron age of decay.

Atheism: The Lesser of Two Evils?

Atheism: The Lesser of Two Evils?


Atheism is little more than an equal and opposite reaction to Theism
In clearer terms: its Antithesis.
Yet a dialectic should exist wherein these polar extremes may be reconciled.
Even if not, let us examine a couple of points of contention between them . . .

For one thing most Atheists claim to rely only on Science for insight into Reality.

However, it's often clear from their rhetoric that they haven't kept abreast of every recent development.

Fewer still seem to be aware that the founding fathers of Quantum Physics wrote some rather mystical essays while they struggled to make sense of their landmark scientific discoveries.

Albert Einstein, Max Planck, Werner Heisenberg and Erwin Schroedinger were hardly Atheistic
Just as Science isn't a static institution that has already answered our deepest questions.

Contrary to what many materialists and positivists think, a lot of these topics (e.g. the Hard problem of Consciousness) are still hotly debated within academic circles.

Furthermore, Consciousness Studies are newer fields of growing interest that keep on yielding significant findings.

Skeptics ignore groundbreaking research from pioneers such as David Chalmers, James H. Austin, Rick Strassman, and Roger Penrose—to name merely a handful of eminent mavericks.

In brief, some militant Atheists quote scientific 'scripture' only where it's convenient for them to do so in much the same way as their creationists counterparts.

Secondly, a common accusation that Atheists level against Religion is that it's responsible for centuries of bloodshed.

This is definitely true and (pardon the expression) heaven forbid any future resurgence of fundamentalist fervor.

Nonetheless, this is also an instance of the teapot calling the kettle black.

Indeed the notion that reason alone and  scientific progress derived therefrom can allay all the world's woes has already been proven fatally wrong.

We may even say that it proved most incorrect during the peak of the Industrial Revolution, which brought us the humanitarian horrors of World War I & II.

To be sure, Science has remained subservient to militarized globalism since then, which is presently known as Neoliberalism.

In Academia they call this mess the Failure of The Enlightenment, which ultimately gave rise to Modernity and Post-Modernism alike.

For you see—Science without a functional Ethical framework derived from Philosophy is devoid of compassion or (as scientists might prefer to refer to it) 'subjective bias'.

Again proponents of Atheism gloss over these facts not unlike Catholic Apologists downplaying the Spanish Inquisition.

Why? Simply because Atheism is yet another mental construct, perhaps even a dead end like any form of Theism could well turn out to be.

Human Beings must outgrow their basic need to choose exclusively from binary pairs.
Neither side is ever wholly right (or for that matter left)!
But if we take the entire extant spectrum of cognition into consideration then other options start becoming apparent.
Could future generations attain a balance twixt immaterial mind and tangible matter?

<b>⚕</b>

~≈≋≈~
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