an excerpt of 'Things Fall Apart', poem #68 from volume 3 of The Hollywood Hearts Trilogy (THHT3)

...My psyche has become,
an eclectic collection of past relationships,
a combination of all the feelings any stranger has ever felt,
along with all the feelings of every girl I ever had relations with,
I still feel each one of them inside, they are a part of me,
exchanged a part of myself with everyone I’ve ever slept with,
this, is, way beyond our control, slaves to the physical,
maids made from the momentary expressions of souls impulse,

here on planet earth, none of this is rehearsed,
no seats are reserved everyone thinks but no one is sure,
no one wants to play along if the DJ’s not playing a song,
when the music ceases to sound we sit down where we are,
in hot seats & Musical Chairs not prepared to be served,
but so what, who one cares if you’ve prepared,
or what you’d prefer, you know what, it’s inconsequential,
because regardless of preference you’re gonna get served,
& rest assured you’re gonna get served what you deserve,
& you’re gonna eat what you’re served, no alternative,
& guess what the ticket you grip decides what you’re severed,
at the table as has been actors with ADD act inattentive,
they stammer can barely remember the words they’ve learned,
forgetting their manners & forgetting their words,
a prima donna Rick Dalton Once Upon a Time in Hollywood,
at times can be theatrically awkward, but I give you my word,
every thing is real, life’s a trip, from thee Benz to thee hearse,
from the sands & the dirt to a towering mountain top perch,...

THHT3
9/9/19

instagram @aaronlalux

Even though these hills have eyes, they can still feel real lonely,
when perceived from these crystal castles that we’ve built,
above plastic palm trees, these people can seem real phony,
when seeing the bogus smiles shown through their botox lips,

clasping the latest fashion handbag accessory,
having every material possession that’s any sign of wealth,
grasping at anything that adequately fakes actual authenticity,
slowly rolling Bugattis casually, got good credit but bad health,
possessing a staggering abundance of plush slush funds,
but lacking anything that has any real substance of self,

& I see it all so well, from my place up in the hills, that it’s felt,
it hurts because most only care about vanity & nothing else,

meanwhile back in my life I rise when the sun sets,
I get up with the dark moon feeling like a cartoon protagonist,
acting on set in a surreal scene out of tune & out of character
other actors are acting too, but they’re just talking ****t,
over eager underachievers with with no directive or narrative,
these amateurs are irritating don’t know why I put up with it,

why’d I come down from my house in the hills,
I’ve got nothing to prove, the truth always comes to the light,
especially when everyone’s gone home, & I’m alone,
poolside view wide, just Me Myself & I,

I wish I had something extra epic to say here,
I want to change the world by writing the perfect verse,
hoping if I get my 10,000 hours in I’ll master my craft,
state the perfect fact & finally get the respect that I deserve,

& maybe, just maybe, by doing so I’ll be able to successfully,
change this world for the better before it gets any worse,

sure is cold up here, staring out this window with a view,
sure is cold in here, heart burning up inside trying to stay cool,
guess it’s all just point of view, even though my view is skewed,
as distorted as it might be, it still appears to be my truth,

& it’s got a beautiful view too, no pretendin' it’s tremendous,
here I write all my truth, to you, dedicated to these lifelines,
like Santiago in Hemingway’s The Old Man & The Sea,
till my sun sets in Sun Valley so tired been running for lifetimes

running & writing,
& writing, & writing, & writing, & writing,

trying, to create the cure for society’s ills,
like The Cancer Research Institute or AEBi in Israel,
replying, to fill, every lost soul that writes me their will,
lost souls, in these lost hills, that got everything except healed,
sand castles in the sand, wash away with waves & are rebuilt,
in a house on stilts, which sits on the hill where it was built,
in a room with a view, where I see everything except for myself,
stairs, ascend down, sun down, stare out, see the full town lit,

lazy lights twinkle,
like the fallen stars they hold,
success & failure both only a stone’s throw away,
so I suppose that’s just the way it goes,

bones, buried under this scorched earth,
infidels on Indian burial grounds,
deaths televised live with no attention paid to still births,
& yeah that’s the truth, & yeah the truth hurts,
but karma’s got a way of catching up with us no need to rush,
we all get what we deserve sooner or later for better or worse,

& since that’s the case I’m just going to stay here at my place,
in the hills where I hide from the world & I write my poetic will,
even though up here it sometimes gets so cold,
my heart feels like it’s froze, going to explode & I get the chills,
wondering if my death will go unnoticed if I die tonight,
but someone’s always watching in this city so I doubt it will,

see these hills have eyes, still they can still feel real lonely,
when perceived from these crystal castles that we’ve built,
above plastic palm trees, these people can seem real phony,
when seeing the bogus smiles shown through their botox lips…

∆ LaLux ∆
THHT3
9/9/19