Addicted to the transformation of the self
In hearing we see that touch is the only hearth
To warm one's hands in winter near to the fire
A separation of love shows the underlining
Of dotted red when the word one sees to be false

Mother - when the night was young and you were old
Were you able to see the stars without your glasses?
We are the products of products of products of war
The shells of the bullet casings and bomb fragments
How much transparent blood have we bled so far?
Where is the fork in the road that will take us to Shangri la?

Notice that when the woman in the mirror disappears
The cleaning men drop their tattered, ***** & cut wears
Disaster holds the hands of man's growth & evolution
At times I notice the way the wind passes through my sheets
The skirts of the women and the thin hair of the old men
And they are much like the lavish trees that line my street
That hold true form in the pose of nocturnal naivety

And there we are by the carpenter and the pine tree
An "A" for effort attitude that barely got you the diploma
Hard work for the Hare and easiness for the turtle
The last night I worked was like racing through hurtles
So in sight all ye' fathers who break the mold of religion
Hold true and steady when the wind will start to whip
And knowing was never the correct answer & never helped at all
"The whips are where the heart is," the fortune teller is told

Where all is sold for the cheapest and weakest dollar
I pray to you there has to be more then all this squalor
The nightingale awake in the horned' tree cast in moonlight
Waits for its dreams so in the morning it can have a song to sing
Nod off and nod in where this life began I can't even begin
The guitar plays as she types awaiting for Her lapse of sin
Here the night is wired and wild with burn marks around the edges
Here the boss's hair rings like a hornets nest and everyone clings to their rubble

And pushing forward through the snowflake rings of time
Makes me to think that the seasons are only there for our design
"Not in the least bit asexual," the lawyer reads to his wife
In the morning both their breaths will wreak of red wine
Near do well and saying it all as the bathroom stall
Leaks out a liquid familiar to the ancient, early neanderthals
I have written and I have seen and I have breathed the air of every sea
The only thing I now wish to be
Is on the lakefront with new eyes and a frame to seize
When the speed allows the memorization of misfit tyrants
To push the rant to the edge of the hill that lays in dust and ants
Then there is the horizon that God creates for all those Western window sills

Tearing the skin from your fingernails and seeing not a drip of blood
Sloth like reactions reaching for the best spot in the house
The covers torn away as the nightmare in the mind becomes real
All that can be heard is the vibrating walls and the wailing squeals
Through pebble caked walls and finger padded dawn lit rooms
Lay to rest thy' faith for the moon opens your casket & the entrance to your tomb
Whorish knave that makes even the gutter grimace in its disdain
There the nun contemplates a life she could have lived without restraint

And to connection through the way we need to see each other
The push for brotherly love in the face of the dawn of technological revolution
And the hastiness of the way that it was and in the day of running mad men
What are we to do when the push is far more advantageous then the pull?
Where the cliff is in sight and death is more likely to be the safety net?
Awareness that all of men's problems exist for man to work at it
To prepare themselves for the war of wars where later to see
The deaths of their fathers, their mothers, their brothers, their sisters
Was not in vain if the reward of the stars is presented to the young
Where the rivers ripple with Roman like eloquence of progression

To live for another to fight for another to die for a place that would leave you in the gutter
Is the madness that leaves the one's shooting with their heads spinning
Tour the way the rules are made and the books are spun with the hands of spiders
Their webs are infinite and indestructible for they learn from one's before them
Their ways were as intricate and profane in their time
For the envelope was sealed and burned and sworn to forget its own name
The lightness of the this place throws me off in the way the clouds are grey
Letter heads are masted like the wooden ships that produce silver flecks of clay
Our nothingness only pushes us in two directions
Suicide or production
There is a choice that few make with knowing and many without
Which one are you?
Do you cry for reasons for which you cannot see?
Do you believe what you will, or what all the others decree?

Crack of the bed she turns herself over to a man that isn't there
I got a place that I know I belong but to where that is is already long gone
In type the strawberries shine red always appearing to be ruby ripe
And these ghosts of electricity provide neither discomfort or much needed positivity
There were things that I needed to know but never took the time to figure out
So what I'm left with is a world wide open with whatever I want to find is what it is about
The deserts and the canyons, the hills and the oceans all a few of what I wish to see
Where I'll be and where I'll live I don't rightly know now
So I might just get myself a mule and a satchel and get to selling tea

Hey,

how have you been?

I know,
sometimes Time can be tough,
but remember,
nothing’s permanent and this too shall pass,

we are only an idea of our own imagination of our Selves,

and I don't know if that leads to more questions or answers,
and I don’t know if that makes things better or worse,
but then again maybe there is no such thing as better or worse,
and maybe that’s the truth and maybe the truth is that sometimes the truth hurts…

Hey,

how have you been?

Tell me,
are you enjoying this miracle called Life,
in this body,
that you’re currently in?

I’m not sure you fully heard the question because I'm not sure you were actually listening,
so at the risk of sounding repetitive I’m going to go ahead and ask it again,

“Hey how have you been,
are you enjoying this miracle called Life in this body that you’re currently in?”.

And yeah I know you’re confused and think you might be a Lesbian,
or maybe an Asexual Extra-Terrestrial Multi-Dimensional Alien,
but hey that’s okay all the World’s a stage and we are all  Eccentric Thespians,
Oddity Prodigies Radical Remedies isn’t it ironic how sometimes the poison is the medicine?

So let the record spin and let the dance begin what hold on I beg your pardon,

I’m not sure you heard the reference because I not sure you were listening,
so at the risk of sounding repetitive I’m going to go ahead and say it again,

“all the World’s a stage and we are all  Eccentric Thespians,
Oddity Prodigies Radical Remedies isn’t it ironic how sometimes the poison is the medicine?”

Hey,

how have you been?

I thought about you today,
all day actually,

all the way from Budapest Castle,
through the Labyrinth to Matthias Church,
where I drank water which sprang from an Eternal Springs,
from the Fountain of Everlasting Youth I drenched my mouth to quench my occurring thirst.

I thought about you today,
from the thermal baths at Lukacs,
to right here where I’m writing this,
at the Basilica on the Turrets of the Fisherman’s Bastion,

and actually I have a lot of answers but I do have one question if you don’t mind me asking,

hey,

how have you been?

It seems what I’ve received from atop the turrets contemplating,
is that my attraction towards you is both affection and indifference,
affliction and obsession and independence and addiction,
and possession and freedom and rejection and acceptance,

and wait a second,

it is,
actually also the most beautiful creation in all of creation,

it is,
the self manifestation of perfection from chaos and misdirection,

which is,
what we are oh my look now to the sky because that's where we are headin’,

and things,
are coming out so fast now I think it’s about time for me to check in,

with you,

hey you,

hey,

how have you been?

You still give me the chills like the hottest Sun mixed with the coldest Winds,
which also describes the highest highs both literally and figuratively that I find myself in,
because what I write is the result of insight from the Most High that I then let out with my pen,
& also it seems where I write these lines is usually from places high it can’t all be a coincidence,
this feels all too real to try and even begin to attempt to pretend,
confident and confused at the same time like wanting to make Love with your best friend.

When,
will we be able to make Love unconditionally without any preconditions,
when can we just be without wanting to do,
like being at a Basilica in the petition position but not needing to be on any particular  mission,
can we please just land on foreign land for the sake of seeking refuge from stormy seas,
or simply to stop from drifting,
instead of landing on foreign land for the sake of spreading our own misdirected ideology,
or simply landing on land to start conquering?

When will we be,
able to just be without all the questioning and invasive investigations,
I mean seriously,
these people these days ask so many questions it’s beginning to feel like an Inquisition,

made a few more references there,
could you please write back and let me know when you get them?

And your interpretation of what they mean because honestly I didn't get all of them,
I just wrote the references I didn't even get them all when they were written.

Let me know when,
you stop fishing,
because I already know what and who I want,
and of course I’ve only got one question,

hey,

how have you been?

Listen,

there's a vacancy in my heart a spot on the charts and I'm wondering if you could fill it,
I’m tired you’re hired please love my rebellious heart into submission,
and I guess that’s what I’ve been trying to say the whole time,
but I'm a poet that over elaborates so again I got lost in all the added adjective descriptions,

caught up in the moment as the Sun sets over the Danube river,
casting this beautiful city of Budapest in a golden glow that ripples and glistens,
and I realize just how unbelievably beautiful this whole Globe is,
but honestly the whole world is only half as beautiful when i find you missin’,

see you seem so far away,
when you’re anywhere but here…

Here,

where I watch tourist take selfies as two lovers give each other a kiss,
from atop the turrets of Fisherman’s Bastion feeling like I'm starring in a movie,
while staring over the edge fighting back the undeniable urge to plummet into the abyss,
wondering if you feel the same undeniable way & wondering if I am to You what You are to Me,

a Light at the end of the tunnel a reason to live,
a Pleasure that makes all this pain worth it,
a dualist that's humbly and loyally at your service,
both wise and foolish and open to improvement and to You being His heart's tutelage.

The truth is I am in love with this idea of having us even though I know I might lose this.

In Love with everything we embody and that is why one last time before it's too late I’m asking,

hey,

how have you been?

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

From The Holy Trilogy Volume 1;
available worldwide here:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N3QR3E4

Cold rain falls from sky
Homicidal man below
Woman walks alone