I’m a healer; not a feeler,
a traveler with loss of passion.
Pipe dreams are clear when day is gone,
then I spawn stories you can’t imagine.

I’m a wanderer; but I am not lost,
burn the human manufactures.
The sky is bleeding poor man’s gold,
drowning lunatic dream-catchers.

I’m a winter child; but my heart is fire,
it's a roaring black hole of ancient lullabies.
Follow the zebra through the midnight woods,
I saw glimpse of amnesia in its eyes.

This is based on a dream I've had recently.
It's quite random, which dreams tend to be.
Aaron LA Lux Mar 20

American Dream

Losing it one memory at a time,
how can I keep track of my friends all over the world,
how did America become a shell of it’s former Self,
what happened to the my American Dream?

I mean,
I have everything,

been to every continent still not at all content,
really though mostly because I don’t know the reason,
for my discontentment I’m in contempt when I try and defend Consciousness,

because most people don’t want to hear it,
myself usually included,
but this day is different an exception to the rule,
in a moment when nothing is excluded,

all inclusive with no illusion to allude to,
only positive punctual true proof,
that ever experience we gain,
is another memorie we lose,

and I suppose that’s the trade off sort of,
lost my money got my freedom feeling strung out like Adolf,
in this Waking Dream that's beginning to feel like a Ponzi Scheme,
was gonna blow the whistle on the whole thing until I got paid off,

hey Madoff,
I just got laid off,
or rather laid on,
a beautiful bed by a beautiful mare that's more like a Stallion,

and that’s the difference,
between the Exceptions to the Rule,
and the “normal human beings”,
I’m between and Exception and the Rules,

I’m losing things but Perfection costs a lot of jewels,
so I'm donating all my Championship rings and useful tools,


to pay the Piper,
there’s a toll at the bridge,
and a troll under the bridge,
and I'm tough not a Billy Goat Gruff with,

Hot Chili Peppers,
with Kiedis in Budapest,
got The Good Life high as Ini the Hotstepper,

nothing seems normal,
shouldn’t be so formal,
let the record play let the drums roll,

in times of gargoyles and turmoil,
having a drink at the bar and it's purple,
at Gresham Palace Bar & Lounge,
up high and getting down with a surplus,

with Anthony in Budapest,
at the Four Seasons Hotel,
on the River Danube,

the River Danube,
brings up memories,
of Lovers and Poems,
and all of the things that continue to make Me,

me and my memories,
I remember you and yours too,
when we walked across that bridge,
above the River Danube...

I can’t stand Truth,
He can be such a fickle creature when He’s free,
and I’m losing memories it’s true I just hope I’m not also losing you,
because She can be such a fickle creature when She’s free,

one round at at time,
on ground that was never mine,

and I know you don’t know the answers,
“But excuse me could you at least tell me the time?”,

to this you turn from your Enamore,
“Well since you asked I’ll tell you it’s almost One Two.”,
in other words what you said,
was it’s almost 12 which makes this the 11th Hour of Youth,
and I know we’re losing all of our memories,
but the only thing I fear losing is you,

Because I’m,
losing it,

Losing it one memory at a time,
how can I keep track of my friends all over the world,
how did America become a shell of it’s former Self,
what happened to the my American Dream?

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

A Surreal World
Selective Amnesia
Bits and pieces of Truth
A large helping of Fantasy.
A Smorgasbord for the Mind.

What can you say in five lines or less?
Probably not a whole heck of a lot…….
Less than What  you intended to say,
But you’ve probably forgotten
All that was on your mind by now.

Apollo Hayden Feb 24

Someone had asked if I knew you,
I said I did...
So I tried saying your name but the sound struggled to fall off of my lips.
I tried and tried again but I couldn't remember where it was I knew you from.
Went searching for you in my heart and immediately became numb.
Felt a sharp pain inside my brain before things went blank; I couldn't pick you out in a crowd...
Thought it was you but I seem to be the one who's fading now.
If the beginning of a movie is beautiful but ends so terribly, then what moments will be so vivid inside your memory?
Will you leave the theater speaking of it for some time, or will you do your best to erase the whole experience from your mind?
I can't get that energy back but it caused her face to blur, making it easier to forget whatever we really were.
I tried to say it one last time but it got caught on the tip of my tongue, and it was there where I gave it up, then my whole body went numb...

Do you think
We can find God again
Or is our amnesia
Too strong?
In this Information Age,
It's hard to keep track of anything,
Especially Something as big as God.
Joshua Dogan says
That I'm probably on a Department of Defense
Government Watch List by now.
That's good.
At least the Department of Defense
Won't forget about me,
But does President Donald Trump
Know where God is?
Probably not.
I think his Dementia
Has caused him to forget about God.

Your remarks have been censored!
Your remarks have been banned!
Your remarks have been erased from the official records!
Do you remember
What you said?

Morrison Leary Jan 26

Upon every arrival of every celestial birth,
There is only one common normality.
A susceptibility to an infinitesimal design,
A kink in the chain, the war of our mind.
This psychosomatic condition is no stranger,
A rendition of life’s existence.
Confinement exacerbated by poor health in the gut line,
Hormonal imbalances manipulated by addictive influences.
Paradigms shifting in front of awakening eyes,
Psychedelic truths hidden within the tides of time,
Confusion and conflict preventing expansion of evolutionary consciousness,
A cyclic pattern, the sadness in all our lives.
This idea is immortal and internal in the human genome,
The greatest subterfuge,

Psychedelics are a key to a doorway that opens up endless possibilities.
Aaron LA Lux Jan 23

Amnesia Deja Vu

Amnesia Deja Vu,
or Deja Va Amnesia,
don’t remember to remember to,
but I do remember repeating,

remind me why we’re alive,
what Star are you that’s fallen,
and how have you survived,

no lie,
no woman,
no cry,

remind me why we are alive,

remind me,
why I continue to right,

right now,
designated as a scribe,
to help us remember the memories,

help me help you,
so cliche and still totally true,


∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

New Book Here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1540322262

staticghost Dec 2016

pink of skies
all the world weep
wicked and hysterical
they keep bells from the deep
at the bottom of their kettle lake hearts
decorated with the beasts they are
caricatures from deep sleep and VR
wearing Prada and armed with providence
keeping promises with darkest incontinence
caring or not the characters speak
to their wretched beliefs in being
watery, lunar, amnesic and fruitless
spoon feed the delirious to the tune of
the obscenest dreamless nights
ringing out in the darkly hollow
clinging to the crucifix
leaves peak ruthlessly
reaching the stars
bracing for guilt
verdict unread
blood spills
killed in spirit
for the hottest skillet
boiling, burbling,
chaotically waiting for the miracle to come
curdling in despair with putrid atheism
copy and pasted from the work of Heidegger
purposely waiting for the fear to come undone
spearhead the issue with searing regrettable
the pedestal was made for tissue and flesh
candlesticks all surround wax dripping
the puddles grow reflections
soon presenting the geometrical flex
so breakable, candy like, and crisp
the bells from the deep harmonize
eliciting a timbre through the forest night
pink of skies freak in His shadowy seat
as the stars do sing in his name
didgeridoo tonality creaking through the teeth of the deceased
and forever lively, crows cry through the trees
listening to the bells of the deep
through Hubble eyes steeply
peaking upwards, lying backwards
rustling through the branches
to reach the answer
found in cancer
immortal genes
throat singing
shamanic song
nuclear fusion
poison dart frogs
jungle dying
palm oil burning
waxy world
vinyl, worthless
of death and deceit
with bells from the deep
singing sweet soothing
keepsakes of memory
in the coldest denial
of the warmest cheek
stemming from priestly chuckle
weeping the world below
skies of pink waiting for me
with Hades on nightly chariot
funny, twisted, perfectly charming
selling the songs from the deep
where the blessed hours chime
in the lake of reprise
burnt and bottomed out
kettle shallow
bells deep
ring their
hallowed glow

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