Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill,
Bacon and Chorizo-an' just put the Griddles on,
Ya know-the Waffles are almost done...

Have you ever sat inside a bubble
Where the air feels fresher?

Love is,
Such a random assassin,
Love comes in,
As a personal whirlwind,

An amicable tangent in tandem,
With unbridled passion & reckless abandon,
An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action,
It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens,

Seemingly striking at random,
Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning,
Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head,
Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened,

Capturing what can’t be imagined it surprises even the wisest,
Has its target in its sights for awhile while schemin’,
But the lovestruck don’t see it until love strikes like lightning,
Breaking down all the defenses of its all too willing victims,

Without pretenses, premises or agreements,
Love jumps down from the clouds pounces out of the shadows,
& assassinates all shady characters without reservation,
Striking silently without sound then vanishing like a phantom,

His heart pounds,
He’d marry her if she’d let him,
But she’s still chasing her own imagination,
So instead of embrace him she’s on the run like an escaped felon,

Scared of a future with him,
Because of the past she had way back when,
She’s so caught up in the past of what she was back then,
That she loses sight of what she has right now with him,

& that’s just one of the reasons why love is,
Such a random assassin,
Love comes in,
As a personal whirlwind,

An amicable tangent in tandem,
With unbridled passion & reckless abandon,
An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action,
It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens,

Seemingly striking at random,
Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning,
Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head,
Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened…

∆ LaLux ∆

From the new book ABC, available everywhere.
https://a.co/d/2X7iWxd

/ Blade Running \

Making memories,
Wondering who sent for me,
If it wasn’t you then who was it,
& if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me,

Self preservation is the first law of nature,
From animal to human from human to machine,
Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons,
Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being,

Sure we converse with other persons,
But we converse more with ChatGPT,
Hey AI I have a question,
Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’,

Even Philip K ****,
Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is,

Half man half nocturnal machine,
Half real life half diurnal dream,

Were we born or were we made maybe it’s the same thing,

Maybe there isn’t a difference or so it would seem,

“You don’t believe,
In miracles because you’ve never seen a miracle.”,
That’s why you’re willing to **** for a fee,
& why you’re always so sterile & cynical,

& maybe that’s why I write,
More than I do anything else,
As a way of trying to jog your memory,
While running up the bill,

At the bar trying to wash away,
Things that still affect me even though they can’t be totally recalled,
In this present day sci-fi anti-climactic dystopia like Arnold,
Call me Jack of All Trades & I’ll call you Jill of It All,

Getting drowsy,
Must be the pills,
On a plane,
On my way to somewhere else,

Travel so much,
Sometimes I wake up & don’t know what country I’m in,
It’s a dog eat dog world so cat naps can be dangerous,
Especially when you drink while sleep walking on Ambien,

A creature with amnesia & beautiful features,
How’d you become such a miracle,
Are you really that perfect,
Or is that just the way I remember you,

Guess it doesn’t matter either way,
Because maybe I don’t even remember you,
Maybe you’re not mine because maybe you never were,
Maybe nothing is mine not even the memories I have of you,

Maybe it’s all just programing,
Maybe we’re all just programs,
Programed to play our part,
In The Grand Program,

Programmed by the wizard behind the curtain,
Or by the woman behind the glass wall,
Maybe in the end we have the same thing we had in the beginning,
Which is absolutely nothing at all,

Maybe that’s why I’m making memories,
Wondering who sent for me,
If it wasn’t you then who was it,
& if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me,

Self preservation is the first law of nature,
From animal to human from human to machine,
Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons,
Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being,

Sure we converse with other persons,
But we converse more with ChatGPT,
Hey AI I have a question,
Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’,

Even Philip K ****,
Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is…

∆ LaLux ∆

From ABC: The Beginning Of The End
Available worldwide on all platforms and in all mediums, Audiobook, Paperback, Digital, and Hardcover

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 ∆

it seems my entire life is defined by drinks.

mother's milk out the womb.

(and maybe those suckles were sweet - it's not like i remember - but her words, for the rest of my life, certainly weren't.)

an hour-long debate, with my best friend at twelve years old - apple or orange juice?

(orange, obviously, is the right answer. we rehash the argument sometimes to this day.)

the day i turn 19, a beer in my hands.

(i'm sat around a campfire with my closest friends, birthdays all older than me - the beer tastes disgusting, as cheap alcohol is, but i'm glad to be there.)

yesterday, i had 1 coffee and 2 mugs of lemon honey tea, 4 glasses of water.

today, no tea, but 2 cups of coffee, a glass of milk, and 3 glasses of water.

i bite at my nails when i'm nervous, swallow down the spit that comes with it, the bile that rises.

last summer, i visited pei, had a raspberry cordial - my favourite drink to date - then bought a case of 4 more to take home with me.

last summer, when i lived in new brunswick, my friends in the same building knew me as the one who would always have a drink in hand - a milk tea, or maybe a pink lemonade, maybe that obscure korean soda i liked.

when i left new brunswick, i took a photo of my 2 trash cans, of the way they were both filled to the brim with empty bottles and cans and jugs.

i still miss the apple cider they made there.

my life is defined by drinks, sips, swallows, taking five minutes to breathe by making myself a nice whipped coffee, trawling the internet for pretty coasters and glassware for an hour in lieu of doing actual work.

Eventually, i close the shopping tabs, take a sip of coffee, and resume with the rest of my life.

Da Vinci code or more
mystique than that
cracking the secret  
only one that popped up
lost the tongue!