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Perceive your consciousness child,
bask in the glories of collective minds,
it’s a beauty to be part of this bunch,
it’s a wild, and we’re all the chosen ones,
saviors in the wilderness’ sty,
books and information, posts and
articles, truth is divergent.
In this movie anyone inhabits
the pulpit, the authority harvested
from reactions and lines demanding
attention, someone’s enslavement can
be amusement and amazement, it
all depends on mindset, we live in
multiple dimensions, where a story
can be a tripled entendre, a camera on a
three-dimensional tripod, the
mouthpiece is an iPod where
podcasts house voices of the ordained
kindred, we’re all Lords, no peasants,
we’re wisdom merchants, mercenaries
with Buddha’s chants, we’re Imams
meandering through the scrolls found
through timeline chance,
dolls puppeted using Chakra strings
filled with broken Chakra points,
we’re Naruto sages filled with words
that can quench a thousand pages,
we’re mages, sages once in cages,
now justice plaintiffs from our
bedrooms, with universal comms that
can echo our thoughts to a million

Its a rocking boat filled with widening
holes, the ark carrying the lost,
sailors searching for that solid
part of the sea to walk on;
swim in that Yeshua gene-pool, a solid
step before the seashore, mindsets
merely ideologically war-torn,
the Hawthorne effect as we see
the tik-tok frame spawned, real issues
banned before trending on platforms,
its the new formation of thought,
we’re ought to be regulated and surveilled
upon, once upon we were on Babel
and we grew lost in understanding thought.
We’re new spores on the fungi of divinity,
corpses fetching spirituality from the
inhalation of mushroom incense;
spirituality has a fungus highway,
common sense should grant you cents and awards
on every platform where you spew
those truths, money and honey, its
funny how views determine what’s
relevant enough to be absolute truth.

Fools with tools, rules are too lewd,
anarchy is the truth we need lubed
by these political brutes, forget that
humans are corrupted too;
dictatorship can be overshadowed
by policies and revolutionary views,
these political brutes are egoistic too,
during speeches its; ‘I am Groot’,
gloating about views and historical
saviors plucked from underneath their foot,
wear your boots; its our time to embark
on the journey to Canaan on a barefoot.
Loot my identity I need a different face,
I need likes to make me another branded slave,
the path isn’t straight, it’s too curved,
caveman when my views are too controversial
to love, crave for that sweet american
potato that they feed you, that superpower
context; where mindsets are breaded
with ideas from the super West.
Wild Wild West; we’re in the www age,

The millennial is already dead,
hanging from the burning rooftop,
dangling from the trail of sad words,
sad posts and sad lyrics that catalyst
the procession.
The millennial is a pendulum slowly
swaying, a yo-yo bouncing to some
xxxtentacion melodies.

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Artwork by Johnson Tsang

℗ Philosophistication Poetry ℗

2020 All Rights Reserved ©

Death of the Millennial

The young ONES are dying slowly.

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