Diacridic
He lays
While the leaves sit underneath
the brilliance of sincerities tree,

and thinking to you
were all the things done by.

As it were
Discriptless
Pages left turned and inkless
What's left behind inside
the minds of an intertwining summer
a conclusion predesignated.

I saw to you,
just as I waved hello to goodnight’s moon.
As they touched along the surfaces
fleeting into the skin
A welcomed wound.

And didn’t you know,
That the pictures I stole
Of every point of you
Were etching onto sheets of heaven
into the reflections of the mirrors
that sit before your bedside.

While it rests
with mixed spirits,
the roses that I bore

Passing through glowing bodies
are the images you started to dream with me
while the silences burrow

A judgement left only partially bridged.
Melded with the manifestation of adoptions quest

And as the calls ring in secluce,
I still feel that this alley is ghostless
Lest this vase breathe the life
of unwilted flowers

where the flip sides meet
on the evenings tides
joined by charmed indifferences

in company with the character
of an old flame,
only tangible with
lights which lay ahead.

medleyed in to what's to be.
​

Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.

This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.
It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,
Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:

Within a single thing, a single shawl
Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,
A light, a power, the miraculous influence.

Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.

Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one...
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

they say that darkness is a nonexistent matter and is only the absence of light but what i know of is that darkness is consuming. it makes you whole with emptiness. makes you feel safe in your solitude. and solitude is not always peaceful if your mind is a universe of it's own. if your mind is at war with your heart. if your mind holds infinite chains of thoughts, no one's interested in knowing about, thoughts with no one willing to understand them. but for far too long, i've believed that what you cant change you should learn to accept. so in solitude, i was content or convinced myself to be..
i met you though, and let me tell you that no light can ever shine as bright as you do. and you don't just shine baby, you glow. you'd enlighten the universe with just half a smile and one glimpse of those eyes i adore. you'd eliminate the indifferences of this **** world with how your mind works and how your thoughts form. i've never known of sympathy and kindness before i knew of your existence because they've always been in the form of you. purity ceased to exist before you took your first breath, and with every breath you take this trait nurtures. and with the privelege of knowing you? i'd never welcome solitude again, never before you have a persons company felt so heart warming, so safe. i'd close my doors to darkness and despair and welcome all you bring with your existence from hope and optimisim. darling, words will never express enough but i'll write you daily if it'll help you love youself. for writing about you is always something i enjoy. i never believed in the concept of heaven until i met you, for angels need their imposing home. what have i done to deserve someone as beautiful as you are? and yes you're beautiful. i want this word carved into your thoughts. baby, poets spent ages trying to write something that can amount to your beauty and yet nothing can measure up. i love you, i really do.

Every day feels like an obstacle.
And I'm lost with every expression you make silently.
We notice each others indifferences but never speak on them.
We strike out of luck with every passing glance and every failed attempt to fall in love.
But I want to fall in love.
And so do you.
I hope.
I think.
I'm not sure.
And so we're hard to love when being revealed to vulnerability.
And I could carve out my heart just for you to carve out yours.
And we'd just be staring at each other unable to accept the responsibility of our hearts sensibility.
And fighting is pointless because neither of us want to be the reason for pain.
And we blur passive words like, "it's for your sake" or "I just don't want you to get hurt." When in reality we both know what we mean.
Because our indifferences are our similarities.
And in reality we just don't want to be hurt.
So we make ourselves hard to love.
Because maybe one day our worth will contribute to our happiness and not just for others.
But for us.
And one day we'll be able to feel that tingle in our skin when we touch.
But for now I'm hard to love.
And your scared of falling in love.

community overcome by
ingenious ridiculouness
roaring through the
commerce neighbourhoods in
urbanias down town area
slowly stating truths as lies

offenders bleached into rays of blue
forced to live amongst shadows

sanity slipps away as the mind
asumes memory as all we've got
noticing nothing but the
calculated risks of the end
tourmented by formal
indifferences backed by
timeless thoughts of lost
youth that once was...

WISH I HAD ALL SEEING CATHODE RAY GOD VISION, DISCERN DYING LOVE IN YOUR SMILING EYES,
INDIFFERENCES GERMING, PITIES FORMING, WORMING UNCARES, WARMTHS  IN HEARTS COOLING,
ELSE A SIGN, A ***** WITHER, EYES WRINKLE, AN OUT WARD SIGN YOU CHANGED, HATE SEEDED!
THE SOUL DYING, SHOWED IN YOUR PRETTY FACE. ANY SYMPTOM, HORNS GROWING, SKIN CORNING,
MUCH AS I TRY, OUT OF BOUND ARE INNARDS REAL, THE MIND FATHOM ALL, IS A TASK HERCULEAN!
SO I TRY THE HEART, AND MISERABLY DO FAIL, IT DOES KNOW ONLY A THING, MY LOVE STRONG BUT INCAPABLE!
LOVE HAS TAKEN FLIGHT, SO I DO TRY WORDS POETIC, ESSAYING SERMONS, SELF CUT ****** BARE.
BUT THOU ART A SHELL, HARD TO BREAK, SOFTNESS INSIDE, UNKNOWN TO YOU, THUS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME!
FLOWER, IF YOU CAN, SO I CAN DRINK.ENABLE AND ENNOBLE US, COME IN TO EACH, FUSE AND BLOSSOM!
ELSE MY ANGELS, MAKE THE OUTWARD CHANGE, BASED ON THE INSIDE, A SIGN TO UNDERSTAND AND FATHOM!
OBSOLETE IS MIND, SEEMS HEART MORE SO.MAY SIGNS SPEAK AND SHOW ALL, THE IN ON THE OUT, PLAIN TRUTH!
WORSE STILL, I MAY SEEM THE SAME TO YOU, THE WORLD, THIS I AM NOT, NOR ARE YOU. LETS BREAK IN!

Check the mirror
And see for yourself
The image you see
Maybe different from ours

You may see scars
But we see beauty
You may notice the indifferences
But we can’t t deny the perfect curves

You might have appreciated the beauty of others
But how we wish you see the angle from ours
Though sometimes you wish to have their features
Know that we certainly wish we had some of yours!

Culture Vultures dining on carcasses,
a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
or both no vote only the onset of mainstream socialist monarchism,
a subconscious stream of consciousness consumed by a constantly contradicting condition of consumerism,
an avalanche of retail therapy and the avant of avant-gardism,
doesn’t have to be a better product or improved edition,
just has to be better packaged and marketed,
sold our souls so we don’t own anything anymore not even our own cognizance,
just look what what the mass media market did,

our collective memories and ancient traditions all but forgotten,
designer jeans symbolize a degenerative disease like Parkinson’s,
want to end this madness but don’t know who started it,
so who can we blame but ourselves in all honestness,
as we absorb Virtual Reality and ignore Actual Reality creating an occultism of Oculus,
Rift we drift into thee abyss of dark indifferences…

Neglecting the blueprint everybody’s a studio gangsta these days just ask 50 Cent,
morally bankrupt lazy played daisies try to copy Jay-Z’s blueprint,
but no body has a DJ Clue or a Ty Dollar to spare still everyone’s got their two cents,
all opinions given with no wisdom taken from the Grand Architect,
what good is good advice if we don’t take the time to listen we just dismiss it quick,
showing off trophies donating charity checks,
acting like champions we bare and beat our chest,
wearing fool’s gold and blood diamonds but we’ve won nothing yet,
honestly feels like we haven’t even started yet,
still we feel exhausted from this rat race for dominance,
slaves of an alien race we pledge allegiance with our obedience and faux pas ambiance,

And it’s all almost over for our entire empire so every moment better cherish it,
white robes with Chipko flip flops we hold the reins to Her Majesty’s chariot,
whipping the 500 horses faster in the fast lane will get you buried quick,
so I try and pace it and not get too wasted still I feel very sick,
when captain screams “You move too slow sailor!”, that’a when it’s time to depart this ship,
but you can’t rush good art and I’m an articulating artist for all the artisans,
in a constant state of affairs is why I haven’t married yet,

which of course means no divorce from any or all of this,
so I continue to translate transmissions without prejudice,
love is star crossed colorblind and my wonder mind is in wonderland’s luminescence,
as I illustrate illustrious illuminations off every edifice in this hedonistic eden like Edison,
with an ample amount of ambiance this is this rebels renegade Renaissance,
I write light before I become just another martyr for the Martian’s master plans,
my words are honest sonnets on tablets of mono-cultured monograms,
mono-glyphs that shine like a beacon on the Tower of Babel atop a cavernous monolith…

This is all honest in all honestness.

Here at the docks with assorted Goddesses and narcissistic walruses,
way up down under not trying to be negative but the only thing I’m positive of is,

we are cultivating a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
so stay up and keep your eyes open because the games have just started kid.

This is all honest kid.

And I’m open to discuss everything except religion and of course politics,
so if you’re having issues then tell me what the problem is and maybe we can solve it quick,
and please don’t blame the Dalai Lama or Obama’s broken promises,
see we all have soiled wings just like these vultures that pick at our carcasses,
as we dine on Soylent Green served hot from the meting *** of concubine colleges,
wrong right black white day night see everything has it’s opposites,
so even the kindest animals will turn into carnivorous cannibals when all that’s left,
is blown kisses well wishes ***** dishes corrupt princes and spiritual paralysis,
this is the age of the dawning of Aquarius and the end of our passing genesis…

But what do I know I’m just a Son of a Gun on the run writing this mystic futuristic hit-list,
dressed to the nines with a bottle of moonshine and a bunch of empty cartridges,
in the Wild West with Clint Eastwood clean as a whistle mixin’ with ***** Harry’s pharmacist,
The Good Bad & The Ugly drink in acid rain and eat magic cactuses…

Howling at the full moon with peyote coyotes absent minded off the absinth mix…

Alive right here left for dead insane and out of practice with,
no clean water in the canteen and circling are the vultures just above us,
this teenage wasteland has no purpose with,
riff raft rats and religious rabbits in the crosshairs with deserted desert tortoises,
see these badlands will make the most professional professionals seem like just silly naive novices,
there’s nothing more to see here in this mirage except my rusty gun as it tarnishes…

my visions getting blurry bodies stopped but my mind’s still hurried this is what exhausted is,
and I’d escape if I knew a way out but instead I stay because I’m not sure what my other option is…

See I knew I would go I told you before everyone is targeted,
so soon it seems I’ll be just another rotting carcass that,
the Culture Vultures overhead dine on as their dinner when feeling peckishish,
terminated no terminator but like Arnold said, “I’ll be back.”, like I just started this…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

Worldwide Bestselling Poet

We trod in steps without spark,
A careful journey one remakes,
With days of dreams' surrender,
O love— is but a promised land.

In our youth precious time reigns
And greetings are met with sorrow,
Maidens and lads, each entertains
Graces above us, Venus and Apollo,                                                          ­            

Gods on high, who told us stories,
Of the cloud nursery, of mountains
Keep and comings of celestial glory,
Not of gentle caress to windy hands,

Of shy indifferences, the trials of lot,
Nor the endless engulf, still desires,
In this land of lost, unmoving gusts,
Go those who shuffle— souls entire.

.
in the whites of our eyes,
no language can interpret,
in the skins of lost bodies,
no soul can birth rich flesh,
in two hearts beating twined,
by all what blight moon shows.

i have walked alone as you,
creeping in avenues so alone,
i have made peace in sorrows,
that you share and i sure know,
we both stride with mists of rains,
white washed by what moon shows.

this world, cast for walking ghosts,
those who know but shadow speak,
avenues trod, unspoken indifferences,
spoke fingers that long for heated touch,
bodies crying need for moist engulfments,
beneath shroud, beams, what moon shows.
.

.
We trod in steps without spark,
A careful journey one remakes,
With days of dreams' surrender,
O love— is but a promised land.

In our youth precious time reigns
And greetings are met with sorrow,
Maidens and lads, each entertains
Graces above us, Venus and Apollo,

Gods on high, who told us stories,
Of the cloud nursery, of mountains
Keep and comings of celestial glory,
Not of gentle caress to windy hands,

Of shy indifferences, the trials of lot,
Nor the endless engulf, still desires,
In this land of lost, unmoving gusts,
Go those who shuffle— souls entire.

Under the celestial heavens,
The sceptic, is so small, slight—
In a dull room, filled with gloss, vacant,
Unbelievers, hayseeds, who unbeknownst
To themselves, are all in an incestuous love cult,
A construct so vain, vacuous, of spineless comfort
And smarmy snugness, a tribe of loose, yawning tripe,
A spew of runny phlegms, a scheme of useless blue things,
Festering.  What rational and clear clods, of beheadedness,
Cluelessness, in clefts of lobotomy, plain and clearly sightless,
Without seeing, they proclaim, all that their dull drivels, the dear
Elders had once spoon fed to them, preached, said— now, how,
They are sad, righteous and solemn in their preordained, oldness,
Incongruous, indifferences and prejudices.  To have completely lost
Any warm, decent, actual feelings for emotion is foreign— the stars,
Do not align, the waters will not part, yet they are blind to the lies
In themselves.  To have experienced— any real, beating, ******
Thing is beside the point, is beyond their ken, is not knowable,
Yet, kowtow-able, quantifiable, not actual, but unbelievable
They—the smug, slugs, under rugs, are dead, as dust,
Under celestial skies, deep, darkness inside  .  .  .

We trod in steps without spark,
A careful journey one remakes,
With days of dreams' surrender,
O love— is but a promised land.

In our youth precious time reigns
And greetings are met with sorrow,
Maidens and lads, each entertains
Graces above us, Venus and Apollo,                                                          ­­            

Gods on high, who told us stories,
Of the cloud nursery, of mountains
Keep and comings of celestial glory,
Not of gentle caress to windy hands,                                                           ­         

Of shy indifferences, the trials of lot,
Nor the endless engulf, still desires,
In this land of lost, unmoving gusts,
Go those who shuffle— souls entire.

****** absorbing the blood in me
my ******* aren't like in the magazines
eyes darker than the coffee you drink
you do not love me because you don't know how to love
indifferences come to me in threes
two for you, one for me
I cannot bring myself to feel today
I've forgotten how to wish

sitting, laughing, smoking, crying
dying in the inn

Driven by the same desires
Trying to outdo time
Dying to achieve the bounty
Racing through the tracks
Rash driving, causing crashes
Simple desires, not simple anymore
Indifferences and lack of emotions
Relationships drifting away
Melting like the glaciers
Submerging in the icy cold waters
Human bonding seems to be fragile
Ragged threads giving away to the weight
Everyone fighting a battle within
Imaginary demons slaying the soul
If only we could salvage the remaining
Not being in the race against time
Taking a path which suits us
For we are destined to a certain amount
Not more, not less; enough to balance
Our life is precious, join the adventure
But not the adventure to outdo fate
Desire to live, without the external pressures
Taking out time to love enough
For love is never enough, no matter how much we share

.
We trod in steps without spark,
A careful journey one remakes,
With days of dreams' surrender,
O love— is but a promised land.

In our youth precious time reigns
And greetings are met with sorrow,
Maidens and lads, each entertains
Graces above us, Venus and Apollo,
                                                      ­  ­        
Gods on high, who told us stories,
Of the cloud nursery, of mountains
Keep and comings of celestial glory,
Not of gentle caress to windy hands,

Of shy indifferences, the trials of lot,
Nor the endless engulf, still desires,
In this land of lost, unmoving gusts,
Go those who shuffle— souls entire.
.

Nobody cared about the little boy
with death in his eyes
with a collection of animal bones
buried deep inside a chest

Nobody cared about the little girl
with lily white thighs
with memories hidden in teeth marks
on her underdeveloped *******

Nobody cared about the young man
that wore ivory little squares as a bracelet
Not even blinking
when he said I made it

Nobody cared about the young lady
or her necklace made of chain
She wears in stoic silence
when staked outside, in the rain

Nobody cared about the man
who met a woman on a tether
Nobody cared about either of them
Until they got together

They shared an unholy lust
to pay back an uninterested society
To make sure all sins of the past
were paid back in sobriety

Talk was cheap without a cause
Nobody cared about them

Never

In sharing common indifferences
they made sure to repeat

mistakes that weren't theirs

*ever

.
We trod in steps without spark,
A careful journey one remakes,
With days of dreams' surrender,
O love— is but a promised land.

In our youth precious time reigns
And greetings are met with sorrow,
Maidens and lads, each entertains
Graces above us, Venus and Apollo,                                                          ­            

Gods on high, who told us stories,
Of the cloud nursery, of mountains
Keep and comings of celestial glory,
Not of gentle caress to windy hands,

Of shy indifferences, the trials of lot,
Nor the endless engulf, still desires,
In this land of lost, unmoving gusts,
Go those who shuffle— souls entire.

Here here!

Time to drink deeper
Life's elegant poison
The distillation
Indifferences
Quasi-Bliss, meaningless kisses
Vows long dismissed
And the distemper in slights

Eyes
Steel piercing loathing
Skull selfish
Pretenses with fake smiles
But feral quick
An itch to pounce
These Strange days's unfair fight

Human-kindness flounced

From talon to claw
I've become a **** lamb
In the fever of their masquerade ball

They're dressed to the nines
The tenth moment glowers
Eleventh hour molts
It's slime and skins
Even by knowing the danger
I'm still In

Life now feels slick
A snake eating its own tail
While Death, a rictus of teeth
Time in its hiss
(They all hail)

And now
I've become a lone buoy,
Smoke in the water / **** / deep
Adrift in this drowning,
Our ocean
Creation weeps...

I am
Raising a toast
To life even tho'
Far from shore,
I still love you so.

Sunk in their potions
Now made as tho' a mead,
Drink deep

Dark elegant poisons
The liars tend to speak

I will float upon every horizon
They cannot defeat

Cheers and Salut!

To this divine comedy...

The patterns of
Glimmering light
Refracted in the bubble
Droplets dangling
     Off a glass pane,
A rough skirmish
     Of splintering wood
     Stained by age and
          The sea
Washing in still waves below,
Neither of which reflect
The brilliancy of
     White washed sheets
Baked in a vanilla scent
     And a tidal quiver
     Of fingers shaking
At the anticipation
That they may
Caress skin half silk
With patches of sand,
Warm in the sun
That looms behind
Gray fog over a pale
     Blue, seeping from
The cracks that
Scatter about a space
So infinitely random,

Lips bruised from
A night needing no moon
     To shine away
Dusk creeping up
     From pine-needled soil,
Kissing with bare
     Chests and thinking
     With flickering eyes
That so seemingly
Match that of a candle's
     Shadowy counterpart
In the enveloping
Elegance of a deary
Dance to the world
     Soaking wet,
While darling,
We lay amongst
     Boxes of sheets
In our chests
And days without
So much as the rest
Of the beating amp
Inside our ribs,
     Shaking our hair
Bedazzled with milky
     Morning twilight
Dispersed through an
     Array of sleeping giants,
Gently weeping away
The toxicity of daily hustle,
Cotton legs and
Arms made of satin rope,
     Wearing the indifferences
     In the fibers of pasts
     Evaporated and sprouting next spring,
Flower crowns and fireplaces,
     Murky waters and the shiver

As you trace your fingernail
     Across the peak of my collarbone.

Random,
hidden from behind
move from side
to hide,
withered with an empty
swoon, to slide from an open hand
to hand,
whispers from adjacent hopes
the frequency...
now feeling hollow from inside.
Silent steps from a small space
to a small place,
withstanding the indifferences
with discerning gait.
Housing the apathetic thoughts
constructed from the sphere
centered in our mush,
the spiraling of gravities conveying
all of these random afflictions,
I gave
to you.

You can keep your God, I hope you serve this entity well, and when your final curtain starts its sudden drop, I hope they are there for you,
How will you know when you have reached your destination, will the way be marked or will you just be again, scrambling around in the dust and grime of forgotten fantasies
If there is to be an image , an apparition that awaits, will you ask them for ID, how will you know if this is not just another con artist, sitting and waiting for unsuspecting prey
When your eyes close, never to open, will you just lie there and presume that someone is coming, your number has been called but you grew up waiting, you lived life waiting, and so it would seem in death you shall wait
Seems like a whole load of faith for something that in reality based ideologies seems all too absurd
The pursuit of a predestined existence to accomplish the ultimate goal for which you have to provide the ultimate sacrifice, seems to be one of the greatest gambles a sane human being would want to undertake, a life rooted firm in stories and myths
It would seem a whole heap easier to accept the only resolution for us all on this planet and move forward knowing that we are all the same, from where it begins to where it ends the human race will all share the same fate
This for me is the only way to get on and sort our indifferences out, pave a future of forgotten histories , a time of peace where mankind embraces life and not death, every waking person lives with the facts of the existence of now and not some distant time away
All of our problems, socially and globally are firmly based around our desires and passion to believe beyond belief that we are here for some other celestial reason, we have scarred this place we call home, we have packed ourselves up and journeyed down a path of spiritual insurrection, we have segregated the world and it has all been for our selfish and dire faiths

Son of A Gun in The Wild West

Culture Vultures dining on carcasses,
a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
or both no vote only the onset of mainstream socialist monarchism,
a subconscious stream of consciousness consumed by a constantly contradicting condition of consumerism,
an avalanche of retail therapy and the avant of avant-gardism,
doesn’t have to be a better product or improved edition,
just has to be better packaged and marketed,
sold our souls so we don’t own anything anymore not even our own cognizance,
just look what what the mass media market did,

our collective memories and ancient traditions all but forgotten,
designer jeans symbolize a degenerative disease like Parkinson’s,
want to end this madness but don’t know who started it,
so who can we blame but ourselves in all honestness,
as we absorb Virtual Reality and ignore Actual Reality creating an occultism of Oculus,
Rift we drift into thee abyss of dark indifferences…

Neglecting the blueprint everybody’s a studio gangsta these days just ask 50 Cent,
morally bankrupt lazy played daisies try to copy Jay-Z’s blueprint,
but no body has a DJ Clue or a Ty Dollar to spare still everyone’s got their two cents,
all opinions given with no wisdom taken from the Grand Architect,
what good is good advice if we don’t take the time to listen we just dismiss it quick,
showing off trophies donating charity checks,
acting like champions we bare and beat our chest,
wearing fool’s gold and blood diamonds but we’ve won nothing yet,
honestly feels like we haven’t even started yet,
still we feel exhausted from this rat race for dominance,
slaves of an alien race we pledge allegiance with our obedience and faux pas ambiance,

And it’s all almost over for our entire empire so every moment better cherish it,
white robes with Chipko flip flops we hold the reins to Her Majesty’s chariot,
whipping the 500 horses faster in the fast lane will get you buried quick,
so I try and pace it and not get too wasted still I feel very sick,
when captain screams “You move too slow sailor!”, that’a when it’s time to depart this ship,
but you can’t rush good art and I’m an articulating artist for all the artisans,
in a constant state of affairs is why I haven’t married yet,

which of course means no divorce from any or all of this,
so I continue to translate transmissions without prejudice,
love is star crossed colorblind and my wonder mind is in wonderland’s luminescence,
as I illustrate illustrious illuminations off every edifice in this hedonistic eden like Edison,
with an ample amount of ambiance this is this rebels renegade Renaissance,
I write light before I become just another martyr for the Martian’s master plans,
my words are honest sonnets on tablets of mono-cultured monograms,
mono-glyphs that shine like a beacon on the Tower of Babel atop a cavernous monolith…

This is all honest in all honestness.

Here at the docks with assorted Goddesses and narcissistic walruses,
way up going under not trying to be negative but the only thing I’m positive of is,

we are cultivating a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
so stay up and keep your eyes open because the games have just started kid.

This is all honest kid.

And I’m open to discuss everything except religion and of course politics,
so if you’re having issues then tell me what the problem is and maybe we can solve it quick,
and please don’t blame the Dalai Lama or Obama’s broken promises,
see we all have soiled wings just like these vultures that pick at our carcasses,
as we dine on Soylent Green served hot from the meting *** of concubine colleges,
wrong right black white day night see everything has it’s opposites,
so even the kindest animals will turn into carnivorous cannibals when all that’s left,
is blown kisses well wishes ***** dishes corrupt princes and spiritual paralysis,
this is the age of the dawning of Aquarius and the end of our passing genesis…

But what do I know I’m just a Son of a Gun on the run writing this mystic futuristic hit-list,
dressed to the nines with a bottle of moonshine and a bunch of empty cartridges,
in the Wild West with Clint Eastwood no Kanye clean as a whistle mixin’ with ***** Harry’s pharmacist,
The Good Bad & The Ugly drink in acid rain and eat magic cactuses…

Howling at the full moon with peyote coyotes absent minded off the absinth mix…

Alive right here left for dead insane and out of practice with,
no clean water in the canteen and circling are the vultures just above us,
this teenage wasteland has no purpose with,
riff raft rats and religious rabbits in the crosshairs with deserted desert tortoises,
see these badlands will make the most professional professionals seem like just silly naive novices,
there’s nothing more to see here in this mirage except my rusty gun as it tarnishes…

my visions getting blurry bodies stopped but my mind’s still hurried this is what exhausted is,
and I’d escape if I knew a way out but instead I stay because I’m not sure what my other option is…

See I knew I would go I told you before everyone is targeted,
so soon it seems I’ll be just another rotting carcass that,
the Culture Vultures overhead dine on as their dinner when feeling peckishish,
terminated no terminator but like Arnold said, “I’ll be back.”, like I just started this…


∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

For it has been
Time,
Who's sudden coincidences,
Her glaring indifferences,
Which in the grand
Model count seconds
As the smallest
Increment,
Has failed to account,
Whether by years or
Decades, centuries,
All history,
That the perception
Of reality,
Is always
Late.

Believe me, I don’t start the day with intention of writing.  And then it happens, a moving phrase read, extrapolated and boom, the synapses light up in connection.  
I’m not a nerd, not especially informed, but something inside is always on the lookout and knows more that I do.

Many Small Acts Of Indifference

They pile up one by one.
The largest iceberg melting, crumbling. falling slowly:
Then, ‘all gone’!

What could be truer -
People neither bad- nor good-er:
Just indifferent;
Never seeing unconcern
Till forests burn.
Therein the problem.

Mostly, one can’t lay a blame.
There is no name, no exclamation:
Maybe something thin and lame like, “****!”
To call this sad phenomenon.

It’s all of us;
Our routine habits that are cause;
Unoriginal, derivative. monotonous…
For where the planet stands today, we’re breaking laws
Set down by nature.
(This planet ‘ doesn’t ‘stand’ it goes,
But where it’s going no one knows);
Round and round or down and down:
It’s all a terrifying puzzle.
We, the powerless and muzzled.

Anyhow, the very slowness gives one hope.
You and I, the dopiest
Can change this moment.
Coral, porpoise, whale dies; gases rise;
Oceans foam, the whole fomenting
Sentiment and action:
Thanks to worldwide inter- nets:
Information at its best.

Beware indifference’ shrugging off,
Bent, trump-ian off-sloughing of the evidences.
It’s you and me, kid,
Who can rid the damage done,
The inner mental situation
Of those small indifferences.

Many Acts Of Small Indifference 4.23.2021 Our Times, Our CultureII; Definitely Didactic II;  Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin
Pandemic-wise

Another cog sanctioned to help turn the capitalist cycle,
Trapped! Forever in this self perpetuating mechanism.

Another body sentenced to break itself to help preserve the lifestyle of the more fortunate,
In the vein hope that one day they can too enjoy some of life’s freedoms.

Another vote not loud enough to speak of their personal indifferences,
But enough to add a crumb to that year’s politician’s half-baked ideas.

Another soul destined to live a life they hadn’t intended,
Living to work, rather than living to live.

Y (implosive) / Δ (explosive): insists upon vowels, while W insists upon consonants... haven't figured that one out to guard geometry of the suggested circumstance (to mind).

as much as it means to make the man,
and subsequently take forth
a woman -
   so many eager souls claimed
to craft: the child within the man -
and keep him, to the point
of surmounting and mountain:
saying: but time is found in desert,
for the eye opened upon
stagnating into the mountain's reign
is but a farce...
speak the spoken desert descline,
speak of the time-dial of the
past humbled sands...
    then speak of what life was
and could have been, had it been
mars...
              as courage take to warning:
send you men elsewhere!
send them elsewhere!
               fools! and their dogma
ridden rules of mosquito attractedness!
zombies of beelzebub!
  devil-eyed hyper-bolic indifferences!
i am worth more
as a drunk man, that you are,
"testifying" as an "enlightened" man...
take courage: and *listen!
               for that is the last verb allowed,
the noun is already known,
is breathe, it aches its own linguistic
para- per second per meter...
the cited H of the rugby posting...
                 let us settled upon
the biding to jerusalem's lament -
                 just once....
   let alone once: but forever in citation,
of course, there is the alternative,
which assured will come to this wording...
and disintegrate it into a willful
becoming...
                 lost tract...
           beacon of becoming:
                      no, &, truance -
how else, if not end it so, helpless:
via the red of mars, and the sun-glossed serpent
worthy of a suntan... dyed in sun,
encompassing a clarification of sight,
and the death of wording to suggest:
that a thought might be beheld:
with or without whatever why.