Advertise my soul,
capitalise from my sins.
Dig the earth for coal,
a market built for kings.
Suppress for your control,
fill your life with things.
Abolition of self-control,
a life attached to strings.

Gotta wash my socks,
just another random thought,
that and I’d like to return,
almost everything I’ve ever bought,

at a hotel in Melbourne,
Pegasus is what it’s called,
online searching for a good time,
wanting a real woman but still messaging these fake girls,

oh yeah and it’s my birthday,
not that that matters now,
because all that means is that my timeline is littered,
with well wishes from friends that I don’t even see anymore,

all this plus I feel like a *****,
like I sold my soul for some toys and attention,
and now the only time I feel anything at all,
is when I get an alert that I’ve gotten a mention,

and I’m 30+,
but still posting on my ****** Teenage Instagram,
still searching for some validation from strangers,
still not giving myself enough credit for who I am,

and where does that leave us now,
now that everything’s been laid on the table,
here in at this place in time,
between birth and death where we rest right in the middle,

no riddles,
yet everything feels like a mystery,
and I’ve got over 50 messages to reply to,
but I don’t want to reply to a single one of these,

I just want to log off and go climb a tree,
I just want to get lost in the green of it’s leaves,
I just want to feel something other than nothing,
I just want to not want a thing,

but I do want,
and right now one of my wants is to wash my socks,
because I’ve been living out of a backpack for too long,
and people think I’m living it up but really this reality really *****,

because I have no home and no friends,
a Self Isolationist that’s alone on his birthday,
writing to you like you still care at all,
when I doubt you ever even did in the first place,

anyways,

I’ve gotta go because I’ve gotta wash my socks,
just another random thought,
that and I’d like to return,
almost everything I’ve ever bought,

at a hotel in Melbourne,
Pegasus is what it’s called,
online searching for a good time,
wanting a real woman but still messaging these fake girls…

∆ LaLux ∆

Melbourne, Australia
October 2018

I don't live here
I'm only camping
On this planet
I didn't plan it
Yet I feel the need to explain it
As the plaintiff
To the sheriff
Imposing tariffs

Money is their concern
While my emotions burn
They are somewhat surviving
At the price of dying
That's the cost of lying
It makes us stop trying
Only commodity buying
While silently sighing
And violently frying
Through fruitless searches
No matter what we purchase
Or how much we spend
The gripping grief never ends
When there are no hands to lend

There are no problems with these items
When we willingly refuse to sight them
They are from where our problems erupt
For we neglectfully allow them to disrupt
The connections that our hearts yearn for
And our wallets burn for
When we spend our emotions on inanimate objects
To avoid the intangible subject
Of love

We're frightened of phantoms
A life heightened by tandem
Is not in the cards
We buy for each other
They don't begin to cover
The way we feel
They are a shield
For our true emotions
Objects can't evoke one
Yet that's our language for expression
Consumerism acts as our lethal injection

The pasture lays abandoned
The barn is bare
The fields grown overripe
Fences lay fallen
Roads returning to dirt
Not a single tool lifted
Nor a single human whimper
Nay a cry from any creature
Had been heard for many eons
And one may wonder
Of the perished and of paradise
For Earth lay singing
While all else is silent
And some long for music
And some long for quiet
And all long for something
And some long without knowing
And some long for things long gone
And some long just to go along with others longing
And some are just so winded from being long winded in longing
So longings lengthen,
Filling us to the brim with hollow wants
And this perfect paradox becomes
Pandemic

At a loss for what it costs for these dreams,
my boss is a bot I mean a mean machine,
I mean that it seems,
they talk but I do not know what they mean,

I mean I got a feeling,
that sometimes things are not what they seem,
but I mean,
how can things not not be what they seem,

& it seems that we’re sleep walking in a day dream,
or more of a nightmare where they don’t fight fair when they feign,
& we scream but can’t wake up our minds or make up the time as it speeds,
on an assembly line butchering swine while dining on ham & cheese,

& I want to defy all of these lies,
but I don't have the time nor the energy,
so I write the signs of our times line after line,
instead of going head to head or eye to eye with the enemy,

trying to write it all out even though still I don't know what's gotten into me,

& still it’s obnoxious to to think,
that they’ve lost their conscience to memes & their consciousness to drinks,
unconscious to all things exotic while being white washed up in mainstreams,
lost in constant nonsense on narcotics it’s all gone in a smoky noxious steam,

while toxically ****** overgrown weeds sown from GMO seeds,
create these monsters that feign for meaningless things,
like rings that bling & the profits that conquest brings,
& they won’t stop this nonsense until they pop like a viral venereal disease,

I mean I’m honest I mean I mean what I say & I say what I mean,
& honestly I say they’ll **** the whole cow just for the cream,
I say they're an obese disease concealed between two legs in designer jeans,
as they march in unison an army of ants that only answer to the Queen Bee,

Martyrs for Dollars with corporate sponsors,
broadcast worldwide on cable TV,
I mean why do you think the youngest billionaire in history,
is a degenerate Jenner by the name of Kylie,
it's not a coincidence that she profits from cosmetics,
I mean cosmetics cause cancer which benefits the pharmaceutical industry,
& I don't mean that personally I mean I'm not sure what's gotten into me,
or why I'm speaking so recklessly without offering any apologies,
like a Kamikaze **** drunk on whisky,
standing in the street like “c’mon cop man frisk me!”,
or a Stalin on Ritalin or better yet a Britney with bad kidneys,
still collecting those royalty checks from Daddy Walt Disney,
& it’s all moving so fast I can’t get a grip or a grasp,
& not only am I disoriented but I’m also starting to get dizzy,

I mean,
it seems things can not not be all that they seem,

I mean,
it seems these words can not read all that they mean,

I mean,
it seems we sold out our dreams when we bought into these screens,

I mean,
it seems I don’t know if I really know if I know what I say or say what I mean,

I mean,
it's confusing to try & make sense of this nonsense & I'm sick of explaining,
I mean it’s absolutely obscene what these monsters will do for the cream,
sacrifice the whole Holy Cow all in the name of the American Dream,

& I'm at a loss for what it costs for these dreams,
my boss is a bot I mean a mean machine,
I mean that it seems,
they talk but I do not know what they mean,

I mean I got a feeling,
that sometimes things are not what they seem,
but I mean,
how can things not not be what they seem...

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

from The Holy Trilogy Vol.2: Mandalas
available worldwide 8/8/18

Born into a world that boldly states it wants you dead.
Freaks atop soapboxes pay top-dollar for your head.
Resolution falters and your ego falls apart.
Human beings living in denial of their hearts.

*** is just a hobby to those hedonistic swine,
Twisted metamorphosis of evils intertwined.
More and more consumption just to fill the gaping void.
Lie upon your deathbed and recall what you've enjoyed;

Not the plastic figurines that sat upon your shelves,
Not the animated films you've watched since you were twelve,
Not pretentious critics or the artists they adore,
Selling out your soul, becoming satisfaction's *****?

Living like a rat will never justify the pain.
Running through the maze, the patterns etched into your brain.
Jump through hoops and maybe you'll receive another treat.
After all, the struggle makes your carcass taste so sweet.