My bed’s a mess,
no reason to tidy it up,
don’t feel like tucking the corners in,
losing control and losing respect,

once the trust is gone,
what good is a relationship,
yeah we’ve all got skeletons in our closets,
only difference is you haven’t let yours out yet,

who am I to her,
just some one to see when she’s not fcking guys,
what am I to her,
just some place where she can run away and hide,

is our time together just meantime,
are we just spending time in the meantime,
until she finds a richer man,
or a more generous guy,

after all what more can I offer her,
other than these four walls I humbly call home,
other than a shoulder for her to cry on,
a friend to fill that space in her heart when she feels alone,

and I know she’s using me,
it’s all way too painfully obvious,
but I let her use me because I deserve to be used,
I guess this is what karma is,

payback,
for every woman I ever neglected,
since way back,
when I was a young punk that didn’t respect ****t,

but I’ve grown up,
more than just a little bit,
I’ve grown up,
just look at all my accomplishments,

I’ve got a home in California now,
and a beautiful California King bed,
but what good is a big bed,
if you don’t even take the time to make it,

my bed’s a mess,
no reason to tidy it up,
don’t feel like tucking the corners in,
losing control and losing respect,

once the trust is gone,
what good is a relationship,
yeah we’ve all got skeletons in our closets,
only difference is you haven’t let yours out yet…

∆ LaLux ∆

The New Book Is FREE Here: www.scribd.com/document/367036005

Maybe I promised myself
To never say
"I have no friends"
Because then I'd sound selfish.

But sometimes
I'd rather not call them 'friends'
Because they seem happy
Without the need to drag me.

Sometimes
I wonder what their life
Would've been
Without me.

Would it have been better?

Maybe I'm too heavy. I'm sorry, then.

I was fire, you were ice
You said you'd never crack

I'd like to think you did
Under the flames o' mine

We thought we'd reached equilibrium
Until things got uncomfortable

Fiery as I, bitter as you
We summon blows

I am fire, you are ice
People say opposites attract

We thought the same
Yet we never saw each other again

My head spins,
As I lie down.

I stare at the ceiling,
Feeling light,
Weightless.

And sick.

Gathering strength,
I lift myself from my bed,
And carry myself to the bathroom.

In the mirror,
I see a whale.

Despite so long of holding back desire and cravings,
What i see is still the same,
And it will never change.

I sit here not over there with the smart kids
I sit here not over there with the "cool" kids
I sit here not over there with the happy kids
I sit here not over there with the emo kids
I sit here not over there with the dorky kids
I sit here not over there with the gamer kids
       I don't fit in anywhere

What’s new about Hipsters? It’s not that they're the first co-opted counter-culture, far from it. The Beats were co-opted. The Sentimentalists, over 200 years ago, were co-opted before capitalism was so industrious. It’s not even new that calling a ***** a ***** is offensive. “Hippies,” “Beatniks,” “Emos;” all insulting labels for youth that thought they were much more.

There it is, or some of it, perhaps. Does the current so-called counter-culture feel like they’re part of something much more? Even without labels, I don’t think they think of themselves as a counter-culture at all. The worst part about it is the Hipsters and  non-Hipsters are really much the same. Falling for a similar niche, but feeling like they ain’t.

We all like flannel, thick glasses, and good beers. We’re all killing Applebee’s. We’re the waitstaff there who laughs at ourselves, cause we’re just so low-down. Not the last, but toward the bottom rung of a ladder that once meant progress beyond our parents’ lives. We stand for nothing and everything, because a secure tomorrow seems unlikely and unwanted. Beget suburban kids like our parents did? Could I buy them as much as I had? A student loan on top of a mortgage, I think I’m better off paying exorbitant rent. Plus, it just feels more temporary, like everything else.

Late twenties, long passed the age my parents conceived, I’m getting old. Lack of full adult independence, still feel floated in embryonic fluid, trying not to give juvenile hopes up.  Qualified for that secure job, but is it open? Maybe I’ll have to move down South. Just like everyone else.

At least there’s always music. Nearly a century of recorded songs. Indie, Scene, and Emo; the last real counter-cultures associated with rock genres, and most practitioners scoffed at these labels. Why didn’t Punks or Metal Heads care?

More pressing, what is the newest rock genre? Emo faded nearly 10 years ago. Some formation of Americana seems sorta fitting now. Not far from that “Indie” umbrella,  it’s what Hipsters seem to like most, at least in the TV commercials. These more choral, sometimes bluesy bands. Some are good, but it’s nothing new.

Now, the algorithms anticipate evolution years in advance. All tastes like Styrofoam, so we spit it out fast. We keep skipping tracks to futility escape the same persistent hum. All the price for our growing clairvoyance. Telescopically, we are flying fast into a wall that ends originality. Too many citations needed. We enter them into software to manage. Our fear of plagiarism makes one uninfluenced instead of inspired. We just make homages. Turn anything creative into a list of allusions.

We forgot to forget
Suspend St. Anselm
patron of using rationality
to explain away one’s faith
in magic and mystery
God exists because
all we can imagine must exist
Your unicorns are but
a mind’s fusion of
horse and narwhal
and your culture is but
a culmination of has-been trends
So it’s all been done
Why try to change a thing?
Why try to be new?

This is the end. Not reflecting and absorbing past cultures with an eye to the future. But judging and consuming past cultures with with a carnal now. There are some niceties to be gained in solely present preoccupations. Yet, no Buddha abounds in these selfish meditations. We are no longer the bodhisattvas, suspending enlightenment to save all beings. “We’re woke, because we know we’re ******” Then we type a symbol for “laugh out loud,” while our mouths stayed closed. We take a morning slug and drive off to work. The complexity of our controllers v. the simple fleeting pleasures. What can I do? Why should I bat an eye at the way the world works?

Warm in your arms,
And walking on air.

The clouds formed a path and led me home.

When I got there,
The clouds twisted,
And I was no longer floating,
But falling.

Shouting of the heavy wind,
Red raindrops,
Thundering bass.

Not even music can save me from this storm.

i have not felt for some time now,
my barricading skills are better than i’d like to admit,
and i cannot remember the last time i stepped outside of them.
i misunderstand the difference between conquering, and suffering
because in one,
you win,
and in the other,
well,
it is easy to be swarmed with grief.
i wore grief like a badge.
but in both,
to conquer you must suffer first in order to know what you are fighting for.
i have yielded nothing but emptiness in my hands as others swung their daggers and swords
scraping my surface as prologue,
then finally slivering down to my bone as epilogue.
but my story is not over,
my barricades are crumbling stone by stone
and maybe my sun will shine again,
but i am a force to be reckoned with because queens will conquer,
and my legacy is just beginning.

while asleep i cannot scream,
even when the darkness haunts me.
my throat is dry and i have lost my voice
of succumbing to silence.
when i wake my voice cracks
only in an effort to let out my shrieks.
and for what else does it say about me?
that in life i am so silenced
that in dreams i cannot scream.