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Aaron LaLux Feb 2018
Big Brother probably has me blackmailed,
for something I did in practically a past life,
never was one for playing the back field,
always more than kinda liked the spotlight,

plus I was comfortable it,
look how smooth I moved,
a fine guy a good man,
a bad boy but a cool dude,

not the type to stress you out,
or mess about and be rude to you,
nope no ma’am not him so how,
did they blackmail him oh well boo hoo,

can’t cry over spilt guilt,
can’t die over pet regrets,
you’ll survive that’s why they call it will,
not Smith’s kid but gifted yet no stress I’m set,

so let them watch me,
if anything they’re probably protecting me,
the New World Order has to have a face,
call me The Not So Anonymous Conglomerate of Everything,

stop freaking out everything’s fine,
and I can’t think of anything to do about it but type,
maybe make love do a few drugs,
then get back to the grind,

lost my mind,
tell me have you seen it,
it’s dark in here and there are cobwebs,
call me a cab I don’t have to be convinced I mean it,

Jesus,
Mary and Joseph,
I wouldn’t even believe I wrote this,
if I wasn’t the one that was there when He wrote this,

he as in me but anyways,
it doesn’t matter nothing does these days,
might flash a wave as we roll by on the freeway,
but other than that I don’t have much free time,

wanna know a not so abstract fact about Yours Truly,
sure why not let’s get to the plot of this movie,
I’m still living with my regrets,
can’t shake em like an ocean swim and I’m still wet,

this might not be a movie but it definitely feels like a movie set,

I guess,
all these screens I’m seeing these days has me confused,
I don’t know the real me nor do I know the real you,
I mean I thought I liked you but then I met YouTube,
and now well I just don’t have time hope I’m not being too rude,

it’s just these days I spend more time on computers than I do on you,

or with you,
and I’m sorry it seems it’s easier not to care,
go out this days and see Fifty Shades of Gray,
but not the shades that come with underwear,

the shades,
that come with disconnection,
as what used to be turn on tune in drop out,
begins getting spun in the opposite direction,

drop in turn out and turn off,
and this is the part,
where I don’t know if I should continue,
or if I should just stop,

so I stop,
don’t want to do anything I’d regret,
because I know They would love to blackmail me,
and they would’ve already if they had something to blackmail me with,

but they don’t having anything to use against me yet,
as I squint my eyes and focus on the TV set,
okay it’s not a TV it’s a computer but what’s the difference,
gosh this has been one heck of a ride are we there yet,

I give up let’s get going,
I’m ready to get off this ride,
leave this confused amusement park,
maybe go for a five day trek outside,

camp under countless stars,
lay on my back and gaze at the sky,
where I can be safe and at peace from the breath of the beast,
no screens nor cameras no intrusive spying prying eyes,

just myself with the Creator,
“Thank God I’m Alive!”,
then take another breath in and end with,
“Peace To All See You On The Other Side.”,

hi,
I too am in this experimental life,
please remind me of your name,
and enlighten me as to why we’re alive,

Big Brother probably has me blackmailed,
for somethings I possibly did in a past life,
never was one for playing the back field,
always more than kinda liked the spotlight…

∆ LaLux ∆
(When in love, every poem will be
the same. Sit back, light a spliff of
romance. I smile only for a woman
who surpasses my entire being. As
for the others, picture me hanging
out the window, light to the middle
finger. I’ve got no love for you.The
mystics dont die, we just multiply.
I'll see you at the crossroads. What
happens at judgement day?)

It will take your heart and consume it,
stealing your breath away, leaning in
to kiss one another, the wait leading
to this moment will be long, the memory
looking back, short and nostalgic. It
will beat you down, revelling all truths.
As we before we die, somehow, the love
will hold our hands and let us fully live.
It won’t be expressed in poetry or in
any other literature. It must be experience.
The love will invent one another, between
two soulmates, furthering more, surpassing
our very essence, our entire being.
Living now, better than our pasts, as it
parents our future. You’ll never live one
moment without the other, the love won’t
allow it. Neither no muse, or no God,
Will permit it.  It simply doesn’t happen, if
it’s true. Few will ever see this love, rare are the
ones that will ever experience this real
love, that all poets are behind in. speaking truth
to conscious reality, revealing always, what
lays bare naked in the subconscious.
If it doesn’t burst your soul into stars,
don’t follow through on them,
in spite of everything at veil-normal,
don’t do it. Unless, they tear that mask of
yours, undress your veiled-persona,
opens your mind - don’t do it. If you never
think about them, hunched over, alone,
not a single thought. It’s not them.
Love is tender, touching holiness, bringing
out something, nearly perfect in you. Do it.
The world has plenty of normal in it.
Love is something, in private worlds, inside
your inner-world, your thoughts, your heart,
your something, an act of revolution. Revolting
against everything in your life. Most of all,
love belongs to everyone, but when two are
in love, love belongs only to them and no-one
else. Despite of everyone else. Love isn’t
something people work towards, work together,
luck of the draw or anything like that. Love
can’t be learnt in poetry, novels, any sentimental
art. It’s more than a act or experience. When
it happens, you burst stronger and brighter
than any known supernova, you’ll know it.
And land in a place that all our muses live in.
You’ll be center of envy from poets, romantics,
as friends and family turn to you and your lover,
‘Why can’t we be like that?’  
(Knowledge Variable)
When thy love speaks the truth, she’s creating
reality around. A place for freedom, where I
can develop into my original character and move
freely in that world. Shattering everything that
I had whispered to myself and trusted to her.
(For all my life, I had been poor. Not only it
provides reason to go deep into addiction,
it also suffocates you while you’re clean. I had to
work in and out of poetry to her glittering eyes
to gaze upon me.)
Silence is the friend of lying, weeping silence
upon deafening ears. Poet, write, writing as
if humanity’s life depends on it, as much as
your own soul. Pull yourself into a frame, not
soley of creative genius, but one knowing
that one day, you’ll spark the mind of the one
who changes the shifting patterns to this turning world.
(Love me, I want to hold you in the morning,
as much as wanting to hold you during the night.)
Poetry, I have a life to live. Let me not
be swallowed in by you poetry, let not
my either, labyrinth, my mystique, or
my veil or parts of my character go in
to your fog poetry. There is more to life
than to lay down and read you poetry.
Regardless how raw or immense, or
how much I could benefit from. I have
a life to live. I just want to live. At
least as I live in solitude, you poetry
eases the pain I feel. I’ll give you that.
I’ll give you that poetry.
The only person I seek to be accepted by,
is thy lover. Until then, I’ll do my best, to
accept myself. Conscious and waking in this
reality, we all contribute to, unconscious of
it or not. The poppy’s break from sealed
cases. Muse, what period of mankind
is this? It feels like almost a crime, to talk
about true love, where everything seems
to be based at aesthetic judgment, in
layman's terms, ‘face-value’. Will I quit?
They’re labelled me a major threat. Can
remind people what society has made
them forget.
Writing poetry isn’t my repertoire muse,
romance is. Long, broad, stretching
Angel dust in deepening substance.
Something like mixing Nostalgia in with
memories, experiences present and
my yearnings to be better than yesterday
is parenting my future.
Romance, an addiction and my obsession.
Poetry, is it fine to view upon
thy lover as Angel at all times?
It’s heightened in tender moments,
where she’ll rub her hand, down
my face. For how many times
poetry, I wrote poems of love,
prayed and wished upon her,
that the muses had no choice
for this uncreated love to come true.
(Now things will never be the same,
oh poetry, is my past leading to
this moment worthless, cause it
is without her or just a path in aches?
But it’s just the way it is.)
Not everyone is made to measure
the infinite, for those who do. Are
generally viewed upon as a paradox.
Mastering freedom, equaling to their
mystical duties, higher than humanity.
Human wealth parallels human desire,
I saw Mozart surpass everything we
know, reaching immortality, passing
human fame. Now I want do it to.
(What madness it is to fit in.
There’s pain, share it with me.)
Live or die, ******* to this body, mind, heart, soul
and my muse has nothing else to do, to render me
intoxicated with the wisdom she brings. It’s all in
time. I am that other. I’ve atoned my past and I’m
awakened, consolation for my future. No-loner
waiting for that afterlife, bless, living it now. For I’ve
meet them, behind the curtains and as for death.
I’ve died already. Smile for me now.
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