Transmission Poem by Vision Ghost

Transmission



The subliminal ambiguity from the corner of your room
That of the technological transmission received to groom
The perfect consumer and forever so in such obedience
Yield to the hours of your life’s insubstantial conscience

What made XML the language we oblige without query?
Or question the fathoming of channels so very obligingly
Do you not now contain the receiver of something other?
Or simply be in trust of what you witness as truth to render

Controlling reins of your emotions or the whip of motivation
Pertained into the suggestion invisible as your contamination
Like a virtual virus in a deeper task for your subdued intellect
To pour out this wasting of denial yet in trust to so collect

If the transmission and glow you receive is now controlled
What controls what you cannot see when received untold
To the constant of parameters set by someone else there
Artificial substantiality pondered in the waves of the air

The growing knowledge of suffering, torture and death
Yet something suggests we sleep until your final breath
As the feeding for our own denied perversions in witness
Of others in reality TV we starve for yet seek in such duress

We become an entirety of people so dimmed and comatose
To be without conversation without a programmable dose
If they term the channel file a program what was the code
To suggest my feelings of mannerisms so now very abode

Are we drained of disposition as we sleep yet are still tired?
So cannot fathom from fatigue how every encounter is blurred
Like the UFO sighting and the ghost was as much the unfocused
Seems a pattern present is ignored for the denial is refused

Have we become so hopelessly dependent on the normality?
This timetable of your life without the question in complexity
An irrational discordant society we deem as the common way
But to then ridicule a disbeliever though have nothing to say

Staring at the glowing box, unreleased and yet conditioned
Unthinking as the dead yet with pulse and breath inhaled
Awaiting the big moment of delivery we leave for someone
Who isn’t there in the big world of your living room so alone

As the void of your emptiness is somehow fulfilled by this
This receiving of the sound, the colour, to feed your bliss
Only to arise to the daily acronym of your ellipsis thinking self
Ratification is in probability another program upon a shelf

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Vision Ghost

Vision Ghost

Epsom, East Surrey
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