Son of A Gun in The Wild West

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 going 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 no Kanye 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 ∆

The reaper and the rev'rend
Want to save my soul,
The reaper and the rev'rend
Can **** right off.

Kanye Got Got

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 proof,
and then we play 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 quota to fill,
these politicking capitalists 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 these 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 sadistic cult,

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

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 ∆

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can you see me?
my time is now.
you can not stop me
my time is now.

is your time up? my time is now,
only you know, my time is now
its the franchise boy, my time is now
you cant. see. me.
my time is now.

Kanye West made me think polos were cool. I thought playing rap music while wearing polos would make me into a rapper. And then I turned into a tennis player. Tennis got me out of the hood. Let it be known. I could have went to court, and instead I chose the Tennis Court.

Tennis is fun. Before it was ratchet. Now it is tennis racket. Rapping was fun. Bernie Sanders liked rap. He liked Killer Mike, and he was a phenomenal rapper. Hilary listened to me. So I don’t know what that means. I should have been a rapper, but when I saw a videotape of Arthur Ashe playing tennis for Wimbledon, I felt a yearning grow inside of my gut, and it grew until I raised my hand to my mouth to smother the scream of nostalgia that I was feeling.

I wanted people to like me so I started rapping at cafeterias and bleacher stands. People drank cola and munched on popcorn as I talked about growing up in the hood of Burke. Real **** went down in the Burke. Like **** you wouldn’t believe. And that’s real.

I hung out on a rooftop overlooking the city drowned in sunshine that was sad as the girl who left me. Kanye West saved me from becoming a *******. And even if he’s an ******* now, everyone knows he was the greatest with 808’s and Heartbreak. Robocop used to play from the car speakers, as we rolled spliffs in the front seat, the wind pouring into the windows.

I can almost taste you in the back of my throat
Like it or not you are in every word that I wrote.
And. I'm tangled up inbetween the place of wanting you and wanting the best for myself
But I don't know what's best for myself
Just do what's best for yourself
To hell with my mental health
So it's late nights early mornings deflecting warnings with half assed poetry
Most people I know trigger me in some sense of the word
But in case you haven't heard
They're saying I've lost my mind trying to find the love I used to know in myself
back when I knew myself skinny *** kid in the denim shirt
Beaming back at you before I got hurt
back before I learned that the parts that you can't see are the ones that teach you to be
The ideas that we could be inside of reality without fully hating ourselves
And me I just wanted to be something more than the walls I was born into
More than the **** I got into with the kids who turned me into the monster I have become
It's the people we know not the places we're from that define us
And I'm on that ultra light beam
Out singing with the whole ******* team about another man's god dream
The scheme that gleamed in their eyes so mean just trying to find they're own way
And what I'm trying to say is that I want you but I know that it could take me down
And I'm not about to drown in another wasted year
In another ocean of my own tears
This isn't coming out of fears it's coming from the place in me that knows that I was made for more
That I am more than another girl's page from her diary
That I am more than what the people are saying about me
That I am more than what I intend or intended to be
I was blind but now I see
And this is all of me
Ultra light beam
A god dream
Everything.
So yeah I can almost taste you in the back of my throat
And yeah I'm tangled up in that place but I ain't leaving a note
I'm standing up for me
And aI can almost taste you in the back of my throat
I'm tangled up inbetween the place of wanting you and wanting the best for myself
But I don't know what's best for myself
To hell with my mental health
So it's late nights early mornings deflecting warning signs with poetry
Most things I know trigger me in some sense of the word
But in case you haven't heard
They're saying I've lost my mind trying to find the love I used to know in myself back when I knew myself skinny *** kid in the denim shirt
Beaming back at you laughing before I got hurt back before I learned that the parts that you can't see are the ones that teach you to be
The ideas that we could be inside of reality without fully hating ourselves
And me I just wanted to be something more than the walls I was born into
More than the **** I got into with the kids who turned me into the monster I have become
It's the people we know not the places we're from that define us
And I'm on that ultra light beam
Out singing with the whole ******* team about another man's god dream
The scheme that gleamed in the eyes of the teen just trying to find her way
And what I'm trying to say is that I want you but I know that it could take me down
And I'm not about to drown in another wasted year
In another ocean of my own tears
This isn't coming out of my fears it's coming from the place in me that knows that I was made for more
That I am more than another girl's page from her diary
That I am more than what the people are saying about me
That I am more than what I intend or intended to be
I was blind but now I see
And this is all of me
Ultra light beam
A god dream
Everything.
So yeah I can almost taste you in the back of my throat
And yeah I'm tangled up in that place but I ain't leaving a note
I'm standing up for me
And all I want to be
And all that I want to be

We all hate Kanye West but like his music and we all have that place in the middle of our back we can't scratch.

We've thought the floor could quite possibly be lava and lemurs are cute and scary at the same time.

We all sigh when we get in our beds at the end of the day and we all have a person we hide from at the grocery store and are that person to someone else.

Sometimes we look in the mirror and see a stranger looking back, what is that? Why am I here? Why do I look like this?

When a rock gets in our shoe or an eyelash gets in our eyes we are reminded at how a great life can turn so instantly.

We all think the world is so big we couldn't possible explore any of it and so small we couldn't possible escape.

We all squint in the sun and dash through the rain.

We all have argued about where the purple and blue color lines are drawn and have discussed whether black or white is the absence of color.

We've all stubbed our toe, missed a doorway, hit our funny bone.

And it wasn't funny to any of us.

We've all scratched our heads while pondering or thinking we have lice

We all have said a prayer we make it to the bathroom on time and also that we don't die alone.

We all wake up with bad breath and worse attitudes.

But mostly we hate Kanye West.
And get his songs hopelessly stuck in our heads.