Pantomime Of A Madman: Salvation

Floating, fleeting, drifting, swimming in the belly of galaxies blinking from car bulbs in nighttime edsa opening massive ego trips

for parochial magnates of the peaceful doves flying low on proletarian posters depicting masks that look the same, feel the same, smile the same

at shady necromancers in black togas offering education for overrated church goers, delusional entrepreneurs, and imbecile politicians

commuting tight ass circuit trains and yellow submarines on spoiled linings of intestines spreading like roots from decaying monuments

reading with a confused face, book devouring you, tube that swayed believers for Boy Abunda, hero of the new objective consumerism selling bullshit to addicts,

blinded truth, spoken truth, anything but the truth, dressed up beggars shopping in the river of bile near pigeon houses in Marikina,

techno-peasants with sweat filling liquefied screens, sponsoring television debaucheries on the digital panels of the barangay-minded petty bourgeoisie

with eyes like closed circuit cameras, bulging pale retinas looking to separate colorful wolves from the army of grey citizens

roaming the streets with smarter phones, while mingling with industrial zombies, models of the charismatic brain drain over equalized brain waves

reading six, six, six, the sign of the leveling off of cities by the grinding jaws of penal codes and vaginal laws found in neurotic flat screens begging

post it, like it, share it over million dazed eyes in social networks that cut off anything social, driven by robots running on microprocessors

that technologize absurd reflections on binary mirrors to your three dimensional avatars, turning hands into hybrid electrical rodents

rummaging through the pipes and sewers of the information superhighway made of fiber optic broadband cables that replaced the nervous system,

Jesse Robredo throwing ethical bombs after drowning of sour milk gushing from the cracks of Malacañan Palace, a corpse animated by satellite signals

flat-lining organisms with hypnotic sitcoms and horny telenovelas portraying legions of the undead fucking rhinos and eating lead,

inspirations for hallucinating citizens who turned Manila and Cebu to open-space catacombs housing necropolitans in suits and ties,

the post-modern setting for the post-modern dead films drenched in cosmopolitan boredom and engineered life deconstruction,

deconstruction, deconstruction, overly deconstructed lives tied to the fingers of puppet masters sending chills over the nights of the living dead in Baguio or some provincial ghettos

wasting waking hours dreaming of Hispanic churches throwing you out from the belfry of your salvation to the decaying citadels of flesh and semiotic superficialities,

you are Jonah, trapped in the scent of ammonia beneath eerie grounds in the far end of a pre-departure of area that hanged high tech crosses;

you are Jonah, camping in the silence of the netherworld, away from the noise of never ending advertisements and erotic propaganda;

you are Jonah, buried alive and sleeping from the restlessness of moving dates and flying timepieces that resound in screaming alarm clocks;

you are Jonah, the prophet of Armageddon, messenger of giggling apples and soft windows turned on by wireless infidelities and psychological glitches;

Jonah, Jonah, Jonah, rider of the pale horse, to you I bestow life beneath the tombstones where the traces of the dead becomes the erratic memory of the living.

by Artchil Daug

Comments (2)

inspired by your poem this haiku beach holiday teenagers in love carve a love sign onto a coconut tree
Happy to be next to you in this poetic window, Samuel!