Culture Vultures dining on carcasses,
a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
or both no vote only the onset of mainstream socialist monarchism,
a subconscious stream of consciousness consumed by a constantly contradicting condition of consumerism,
an avalanche of retail therapy and the avant of avant-gardism,
doesn’t have to be a better product or improved edition,
just has to be better packaged and marketed,
sold our souls so we don’t own anything anymore not even our own cognizance,
just look what what the mass media market did,

our collective memories and ancient traditions all but forgotten,
designer jeans symbolize a degenerative disease like Parkinson’s,
want to end this madness but don’t know who started it,
so who can we blame but ourselves in all honestness,
as we absorb Virtual Reality and ignore Actual Reality creating an occultism of Oculus,
Rift we drift into thee abyss of dark indifferences…

Neglecting the blueprint everybody’s a studio gangsta these days just ask 50 Cent,
morally bankrupt lazy played daisies try to copy Jay-Z’s blueprint,
but no body has a DJ Clue or a Ty Dollar to spare still everyone’s got their two cents,
all opinions given with no wisdom taken from the Grand Architect,
what good is good advice if we don’t take the time to listen we just dismiss it quick,
showing off trophies donating charity checks,
acting like champions we bare and beat our chest,
wearing fool’s gold and blood diamonds but we’ve won nothing yet,
honestly feels like we haven’t even started yet,
still we feel exhausted from this rat race for dominance,
slaves of an alien race we pledge allegiance with our obedience and faux pas ambiance,

And it’s all almost over for our entire empire so every moment better cherish it,
white robes with Chipko flip flops we hold the reins to Her Majesty’s chariot,
whipping the 500 horses faster in the fast lane will get you buried quick,
so I try and pace it and not get too wasted still I feel very sick,
when captain screams “You move too slow sailor!”, that’a when it’s time to depart this ship,
but you can’t rush good art and I’m an articulating artist for all the artisans,
in a constant state of affairs is why I haven’t married yet,

which of course means no divorce from any or all of this,
so I continue to translate transmissions without prejudice,
love is star crossed colorblind and my wonder mind is in wonderland’s luminescence,
as I illustrate illustrious illuminations off every edifice in this hedonistic eden like Edison,
with an ample amount of ambiance this is this rebels renegade Renaissance,
I write light before I become just another martyr for the Martian’s master plans,
my words are honest sonnets on tablets of mono-cultured monograms,
mono-glyphs that shine like a beacon on the Tower of Babel atop a cavernous monolith…

This is all honest in all honestness.

Here at the docks with assorted Goddesses and narcissistic walruses,
way up down under not trying to be negative but the only thing I’m positive of is,

we are cultivating a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
so stay up and keep your eyes open because the games have just started kid.

This is all honest kid.

And I’m open to discuss everything except religion and of course politics,
so if you’re having issues then tell me what the problem is and maybe we can solve it quick,
and please don’t blame the Dalai Lama or Obama’s broken promises,
see we all have soiled wings just like these vultures that pick at our carcasses,
as we dine on Soylent Green served hot from the meting *** of concubine colleges,
wrong right black white day night see everything has it’s opposites,
so even the kindest animals will turn into carnivorous cannibals when all that’s left,
is blown kisses well wishes ***** dishes corrupt princes and spiritual paralysis,
this is the age of the dawning of Aquarius and the end of our passing genesis…

But what do I know I’m just a Son of a Gun on the run writing this mystic futuristic hit-list,
dressed to the nines with a bottle of moonshine and a bunch of empty cartridges,
in the Wild West with Clint Eastwood clean as a whistle mixin’ with ***** Harry’s pharmacist,
The Good Bad & The Ugly drink in acid rain and eat magic cactuses…

Howling at the full moon with peyote coyotes absent minded off the absinth mix…

Alive right here left for dead insane and out of practice with,
no clean water in the canteen and circling are the vultures just above us,
this teenage wasteland has no purpose with,
riff raft rats and religious rabbits in the crosshairs with deserted desert tortoises,
see these badlands will make the most professional professionals seem like just silly naive novices,
there’s nothing more to see here in this mirage except my rusty gun as it tarnishes…

my visions getting blurry bodies stopped but my mind’s still hurried this is what exhausted is,
and I’d escape if I knew a way out but instead I stay because I’m not sure what my other option is…

See I knew I would go I told you before everyone is targeted,
so soon it seems I’ll be just another rotting carcass that,
the Culture Vultures overhead dine on as their dinner when feeling peckishish,
terminated no terminator but like Arnold said, “I’ll be back.”, like I just started this…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

Worldwide Bestselling Poet

months are getting shorter than
                prescription bottle dates
                                  say they would
         the holes on the strap of his belt
                     are putting for triple bogey
               shedding the wrong weight and
                    feeling kinda nervous to say so
                                                              ­             shine a light on anything(-)
                                 and watch it misbehave
                                                it always will.
                                    where we are going
                                        is never the way
                                          we used to be
                                     Is That Exciting
                                          Frightening
  ­                                          Relieving
             ­                                   or D.
                                       All of the above

Got that Celebrity Life,
got that “He’s Too Real” type of vibe,
got that you want to have him forever,
but you can’t because it’s “Hi” and “Bye”,

that he moves too quickly like a Gypsy,
that life’s too good somebody pinch me,
that you see him but don’t really know him,
like I’ve heard the name seen the face but who is he,

really,

no time for the drainers,
I’ll ball until on the wall of the Hall of Famers,
if Life’s a Game then I’m all in,
Life to me is what a game is to a Gamer,

dedicated,
tunnel vision,
writing books about all of this,
split decisions,

split screens and wet dreams,
getting rings I get things,
a champion at being a champion,
into inventing things that are inspiring,

even my sadness makes me happy,
can’t bring me down,
and I can’t fully pronounce this city,
but when I’m with my local friends this is my town,

this is our town,
we are local heroes,
make a lot give a lot,
so what yeah I’m a ******,

but so is everybody else that’s anybody,
the freaks come out at night and I’m a night owl,
if you know the Mysteries of Life,
then you already know me well,

developed such a relationship,
that strangers act like they know me,
but I guess that’s what happens,
when you’re an underground celebrity,

a celebrity to celebrities,
anybody that’s somebody should know me,
connected to a higher power,
not Austin Powers all real more like Jay Z,

got that Celebrity Life,
got that “He’s Too Real” type of vibe,
got that you want to have him forever,
but you can’t because it’s “Hi” and “Bye”…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

They've all moved to L.A now.
Their temples alit by silver screen
belief in Hollywood dreams.

Pilgrims travel from all around
to new sanctuaries;
to New Delphi,

to see them in the flesh,
their idols who have fallen from
the light polluted skies.

Carved and polished out of Parian marble
And pasted onto magazines.
Sculptured into new realities.

Still the priestesses; the press,
will whisper the gossip
from high in the clouds.

Proceeding onward with
inextrictable imputence
Thinking yourself greater
than the rest of these

Despising those whom
you deem as intolerant
of your vapid irreconcilable
so called tolerant views

Knowing the motive
with all intentions clear
Thinking yourself raised higher
with chasms between

Not to look below you
lest you see those
you contemptible fear
Eyes ahead straight forward
observing yet for you
truth is rarely still seen

Bourgeois in motive
Bolshevik in deed

Ripping asunder
with deviant delight
Wanton incessant abandon
to that most evil belief

The pilfering blasphemous
defilement throughout your
most insignificant life.

-R.

(10)
-Hlywd

-Lyrix (BluJazz)

Blue, Blue, I'm so blue for you
Blue so Blue true blue for you

We shared Our life
within a place
of endless love
and wondrous grace
A vow of hearts
Our promise bound
that moment pure
forever found

Finding You

Shadows stole
Our moment pure
the sun arose and surely sure
All was lost when I lost you
I dreamed a dream
and saw you

Brand new

Blue, Blue, I'm true
blue for you
Blue so Blue, are you
true blue too

I searched the Earth
when all was new
Lost my life persuing you
Whispered prayers
to who knows who
Supposing all my prayers
were heard by you

We shared our love
We paid the cost
for those whose cause
was always lost
Angels sang
while they looked on
For crimes of these
Our love forever torn

All was lost
when I lost you
Dreamed a dream
and saw you new
Whispered prayers
to who knows who
Supposing all my prayers
were heard by you

Blue, Blue, I'm true
blue for you
Are you true blue too

I'm blue true blue
for true blue you

I'm blue true blue
for true blue you

-R.

(2.10)
Hlywd
-4MAR

Dandelions Daisys
and Daffodils
ultra twilight
Mourning Glorys

Beau coups of tragically
beautiful Buttercups

Scarlet Lillys
and Royal Violets
Violently pursued
by less than
gentle sunlight

Sharp piercing
cutting thorns
enticing with
yellow blush
and crimson Roses

Beauty for a time
a moment less
maybe moments longer
Then wilted away

Another then springing
from darkness unto light
and brilliant breath
...and another

Each purposed only to
the sustenance
of the thorns
and the beauty thereof.

-R.

(10)
-Hlywd

-Lyrix
Genre; Western Ethereal Cosmic Cowboy Hard Country Rock
Sub-Genre; Cowboy Rant

Listen up now
'cause I heard the rumour
Best take heed
there won't be any warning
Son of a Gun
goodness knows He's comin'
Cowboy Dread,
Justice He's a walkin'

Riding three horses,
Death, Plague and War
He'll send you to Hell
and burn you to the core
Give you the nightmares
of your worst fears
I told you so
and I know you hear

He'll salt your fields
and disease your castle
Poison your wells
and slay your cattle
Sell your stuff
in a two dollar raffle
Lightening strikes
when the Cowboy's
sabre rattles

The ****** will see
the smoke and ***** shadows
Stumbling down
through the thistles
and the cowards
Crying out to God
who never was a listenin'
They'll hear His answer
when Justice shadows passin'

The good folk say,
You know they had it comin'
He's given' good to the good
and the rest
are gettin' nothin'
All the downtrodden
and the caste
they been lost in
clapping their Hands
seein' hope on the horizon

The children see
the rainbows
with the showers
The children see
the meadows
and the flowers

The children smile
'cause their tired of cryin'
They been saying
their prayers
and the truth
it ain't a liein'

Innocence cries
Goodness is flying
Goodness sighs
Justice is riding
Justice arrives
Truth is in the saddle

The good folks say
this is all about to happen

'Cause they heard
it's all been written
a good mans riding
They can plant their seed
and live to see the harvest

He'll set things right
'cause He's on a mission
Gonna' send them to Hell
so we can live in Heaven

He's ridin' three horses
Faith, Hope and Love
Ridin' night and day
on the breezes from above
Ain't hearin' nothing
but the whispers
of His doves
Ain't got nothin'
but for the ones He calls Beloved

Listen up now
'cause I heard the rumor
Best take heed
there won't be
any warning
Son of a Gun
goodness knows
He's comin'
Cowboy Dread.
Justice, He ain't just a talkin'.

-R.

(2.10)
Hlywd