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Philosophistication Poetry (Logo)


Low memory of our time together though,
to her I was probably a symbiote,
looking for who she is, minie miny moe,
my blood is heating more and more,
her absence, I’m not monitored,
raming through the processes of
life’s cores, she would’ve become
my number one fan, propelling
thoughts inside my head, still
emitting an aura of pain, I’m
still polishing the frames from
where her existence stays,
I still miss our forgotten sequences,
hard driving to a destiny where
fate feeds on my duality, stay
abandoned with my raw insanity.
Life is too graphic, a bit tragic, I can’t see the
path I’m embarking on, shuffling
graphics cards trying to prophesy
my future self, I can’t see what I’m
becoming, I’m reckoning my own
shutdown after some analysis on
why I’m usually down, pessimistic
paradox; gamer writing poems
about the violence fuming from
gaming consoles, clock my lifetime’s
speed, while I listen to Steez telling
me of my inner folk, more memories
made with other motherboards while
the feather keeps brushing them all clean,
learning not to be synced with their
processes, I can see how their existences
might become combustible, subtle thoughts,
I can’t see what they’re envisioning,
vision less clear, accelerating their frame rates,
they can’t catch up to my identities
changing, it’s torture for these
motherboards, hoarding and forging
emotional intelligence, this artificial
intelligence I’m noticing.

Microwaving at my happy thoughts,
loose screw dangling from my skull’s fort,
looting my thoughts; it’s the clash of
clans between the bastard son and
the enlightening motherboards with
too many disco globes, beaming ideas
to them are a sun roof, new motherboard
doesn’t understand my poetic flow,
asking me to place them on cold floors
when a new poem makes the room hot.
High definition of how I define
my poetic craft, comparing me
to some homeless folk
with too many written poetic songs,
you’ll grow insane if you continue
radiating ultraviolet rays, I’ve become
the sun’s nucleus, the radioactive material,
derailing me from the pathway to
my alienware fort, my destiny is too
alien to most, say I’m too provocative,
delusional, I’m the Python, the serpent
within the garden’s ploughed land.
I’m still javascripting my poetic
views, decoding what the system keeps
cording around your spinal bones,
puppets walking in maze of sorts,
can’t see where the path is headed lately.
I’ve been smashing the keyboard,
trying to unlock the rusted lock,
command prompting the fiends away
from my readers’ heads, Hades dancing
and trying to hack and phish the
identity of my keen folk, that’s a foul
intention though…
I can still emit the hot wind, new
whirlwind to my Jobless keen,
supporting their dreams and expectancies.
I’m the tiny mouse hiding my intents
behind inferior imageries.
Wireless connections with these
motherboards, no umbilical cords
attaching me to these motherboards,
I’m the martyr dying for my
old man’s cravings.

Too many motherboards, too many
dying from the fuses sparking
red hot, I’m not calling any
as motherboards, I’m filling
most with soft copies of my
facial moulds, they keep crushing and
glitching when my true intents
seem too dark to be reasoned with,
my dreams are beyond their understandings,
in a fortnight they’re already
leaving, digging their own graves,
African rodents, undertakers with
tongues for shovels, my bitter ointments
infiltrate their waterproof-less wires
inside their exposed heads, I’m tired
of exposing who I am, no details
or names and emails to justify
who I really am, I’m now walking
away to my consoles, no longer going to
watch the motherboard who watches
me most during the nights and the days
when I’m not even noticing, I’m left
with no option, but webbing them with
wet noodles, this is the darkness I’m

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Artwork by Laurie Lipton

Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©

I Miss My Motherboard

A poem about my Motherboard basically…my CPU.

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