Feeling claustrophobic doing emotional aerobics,
can’t breath so I take a breath and breath in,
and if you can’t be with the one you love,
then love the one you can be with,

time is precious,
can’t waste it,
even though I’m at this terminal,
feeling like a rebel that’s complacent,

typing on these keys,
like they could make a difference,
met Jay-Z and respect Alicia keys,
but this New York State of Mind is indignant,

feels like the world is ending,
feels like no one cares,
feeling like no one feels things,
feels like feeling don’t matter any more,

anyways,
you know what they say,
one moment you feel like you’re on top of the world,
the next moment that feeling goes away,

we’ve got pandemics,
we’ve got floods and fires,
we’ve got a worldwide lockdown,
we’ve got misdirected desires,

we’ve got not a lot left to believe in,
see people I know in the street,
and feel like,
I’ve got nothing to say to them,

dead inside,
still sparked and alive,
still I log on just to turn off,
but I’m not grabbed by anything online,

nothing is exciting,
nope nothing at all,
so I try to drown out my anxieties,
with orange juice and alcohol,

wishing I knew which directions to go in,
wishing I knew if life was real or not,
it’s 2020 it feels like that doesn’t mean anything,
feels like we got way but somehow we are still caught,

here in this moment,
with no one except ourselves,
what do you do if ignorance is bliss,
but knowledge is wealth,

which to choose,
the choice is up to you,
I can’t give you any advice,
because I don’t even know what’s true,

though I do know one thing,
when I take a breath and breath it’s,
if you can’t be with the one you love,
then love the one you can be with….

Love is love,
it’s not that complicated,
Love does not care what color or *** you or your love is,
because Love is all inclusive it doesn’t discriminate,

Love is colorblind,
Love Sees No Color Love wears Cross Colours jumpers,
Love is abundant, just ask Russell Simmons or Gloria Carter,
or her baby Jay Z or anyone else who is an authentic Lover,

Love is unconditional & it’s available to everyone,
regardless of class social status religion region or color,

it’s okay to feel good, smile you deserve it,
dedicate yourself to love, believe me it’s worth it,

you get what you give so give 100%,

remember to forget & forgive them, even if they’re not perfect,
because no person walking this earth’s surface is,
but you can still find yourself a good girlfriend or boyfriend,
as long as you’re willing to work with them,
& you two can still be your own version of Bonnie & Clyde,
can still be in love & serve them with services,

there’s wisdom in these verses here,
modern day scriptures for gangstas & hipsters,
they don’t call him LaLux or J-Hova for nothing,
no fronting true strength requires no crutches or addictions,

just enough Dedication as Lil Wayne to get to 10,000 hours,
as laid out well by Macklemore or Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers,

a Master of Self a ******* from Hell,
***** as hell but he cleans up well
I own all my Master,
you should probably own yours as well,

well,
the floods are coming, there’s some prophecy for you,
either ride the Tidal wave or get washed straight away,
washing the straight leg green jeans clean so there’s no proof,

only proof is us see our success & ourselves are Self Evident,
only witness God won’t testify against our business interest,
the evidence is obvious see we are all sovereign entities,
you are your own country so you are your own president,
a one person army a one person president,
who roams the whole globe everywhere’s their residence,
channelling these visions into verses of the present tense,
told you before I’m not a business man I’m a business, man...

Smile is continued in THHT3...

∆ LaLux ∆

an excerpt from poem #24 of
THHT3: The Hollywood Hills Trilogy 3
available on Amazon here:
www.amazon.com/dp/1950780023

If you've read this far I'd like to show my appreciation by buying you a copy of THHT3 from Amazon myself, seriously, for free. Just send me a Message here or on IG @aaronlaux

Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually,

hundred years ago we were all playing flutes,
we’re all guilty as charged even without proved,
and then we player ourselves that’s the truth,
because those in control have nothing to prove,

They pull up the trains and tell us to move,
get to your job gotta quote to fill,
these politicking capitalist are making me sick,
and maybe I’m one too and that’s why I feel ill,

but I’m better than that getting better in fact,
and that’s why my cup overrunneth when filled,

to the brim ballin’ all in,
swimming in sin still blessed as Mary The ******,

first programmed device was invented in Baghdad,
but we’re all caught up in this narcissistic sentiments,
we’re in The Greatest Time in Human History,
and all you can think is the narcissistic thought that “I’m sad”,

Yeah we’re all sad,
and that’s our own fault,
got me mad as a cam in Baghdad,
which I guess was the results,
of being over optimistic with bad math,
and being on the war path with a cult,

but what’s they cult called,
does it even have a name,
and how’d it get Kanye,
and what’s it gotta do with J?

Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually…

∆ LaLux ∆

Who cares who shot JFK I wanna know who shot Tupac,
who cares about the CIA's JFK Files release date,
it’s 2017 and I’m on a plane watching All Eyez On Me,
flying westbound outta the Westside of LA,
on All Hallow’s Eve and it’s all feeling kinda spooky,
because I’m on this plane with another Libra The Boy Drake,

and I don’t care who shot JFK,
I want to know who shot Tupac,
met Suge two times and got the feeling he didn’t,
plus when they hit Pac even Suge got two shots,

so who shot Tupac,
as I write with all I’ve got,
in red ink as my red eyes blink,
pen lines looking like blood drops,

all eyes on me,
until my eternal slumber,
but enough about the words,
what about the numbers,

75 million albums sold,
713 songs,
7 films that’s 777,
same as the title of the latest book I put out,

seems Tupac and I,
share a mutual obsession with the #7,
plus his last album Killuminati was subtitled 7 Day Theory,
not to mention the fact that Pac was shot on September 7th,

as I trace the early similarities,
between me and Tupac,
I think back to when I almost signed with Suge,
and I too feel like Tupac,

I too was raised in New York,
I too got put on in LA,
I too almost lost my soul in Vegas,
I too am both profane and a saint,
I too feel confused and conflicted,
I too both sin and pray,
I too write with a sense of urgency,
because I too know tomorrow isn’t promised today,

I too have found my street instincts to be risky,
I too have gotten it on at the Luxor,
I too know there’s a thin line,
between Love & Hate and between Enemies & Lovers,

trapped between over the top celebrities,
and detectives undercover,
and I’ll a pirate sailor sailing high,
but still I have to fight from going over,

oh Lord,
forgive me for I know not what I do,
and maybe the reason I feel guilty,
is because I waste my gifts on **** and *****,

choose,
your own adventure,

lost,
caught up in the trap that’s why they call it a trap,
winnin’ till when that window rolls down and you don’t know,
if it’s gonna be a gun shot or a camera snap,

I know what’s coming even though I don’t know when,

signing my own death certificate,
like Pac signing to Death Row,
see he thought he was just giving Suge his Music,
but really what he was giving him was his soul,

nobody know when they’re gonna go,
we’re at the table at the Last Supper till they pull our card,
which I guess is sickeningly befitting,
considering Tupac was shot in Vegas on Las Vegas Blvd.,

and all that’s left of him,
is this movie that I watch on this plane,
and what’s happened to our music,
lost Tupac and gained Drake,

and that’s not a shot at Drake,
I mean Drake’s cool,
I’m flying with him to Australia,
but Drake doesn’t have Tupac’s soul,

our music has been watered down,
now Hip Hop sounds like Pop Rock,
I mean how can you even compare,
Hotline Bling to Keep Your Head Up,

what the fck,

how’d we go from Black Panther,
to ***** cat,
how’d we go from I Ain’t Mad At Cha,
to Best I Ever Had,

and I’m not even mad,
I mean I respect Drake for sure,
he gets that money and has always been good to me,
but Drake is no Tupac that’s for sure,

but I won’t elaborate further because,
we all know what happens when you ask too many questions,
so I’ll just keep getting my money and writing my books,
& keep going to church without admitting confessions,

and I’m ending,
this poem right here with an RIP,
RIP to Tupac,
Rest In Peace,

another leader slain,
and I’m so caught up I forgot what I was saying,
even forgot where I was,
which is flying westbound on this plane,

writing verses in blood red ink,
feeling like Pac All Eyes on me,
wondering who shot Tupac pen lines like blood drops,
as I write what I think with all that I’ve got in ink,

ink as red as my red eyes that blink,
sending this poem off as a literary Hail Mary,
with California Love even those it’s Me Against the World,
Keep Your Head Up & congratulations Brenda’s Got A Baby,

and I know I’ll likely Live & Die in LA,
so I wonder if there’s a Heaven for a G,
& if there is Dear Mama I’ll meet you at **** Mansion,
& please know I Ain’t Mad At Cha but I’ve gotta go so peace…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

30/10/17