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Aaron LaLux Aug 2018
Mumok Museum [24]

What am I doing in Vienna,
staring at cold sterile pop art as the whole entire world we're on burns,
in a city I never wanted to go to,
doing things that never really seemed that inspiring,

& it's not that I have an antipathetic attitude towards these pathetic fools,
in fact it's actually just the opposite of that because I'm an actual optimist,
which is why I don't feel inspired by bored cyborgs their wires or their tools,
& precisely why I'd rather gather flowers than be an actor for their power,

see I find more inspiration in a single leaf on a single tree by a river bank,
than from all the colors & lines contained within the walls of this museum,
which is why when I'm asked all the time what kind of poetry I read,
I reply I don't even read poetry see I don't find it in books I find it in seasons,

It's the same reason I don't need to go to church to pray,
because I don't need my messages from God to be translated by a human,

anyways where am I at & what am I doing?

Oh yeah Im at a museum in Vienna wondering where the inspirations gone,
& why everything seems so excruciatingly tiring,
see it seems we’re on the verge of a collective mental breakdown,
at the same time like we're on the precipice of a collective enlightening,

either way the system’s short circuiting & could do with some rewiring.

Why does every rags to riches story I know of those that've made it,
end in an overpriced designer outfit at home bored all alone & jaded?

Why is Consumerism followed like a religion,
I mean we're all made of the same DNA strands regardless of name brands,
I mean everything is just carbon hydrogen & oxygen anyways,
which may explain why materialism is immanent in every independent man,

while an apocalypse seems undeniably immanent &,
we dwell in the highest heights ever built still we don't totally understand,

we don’t worship Jesus we worship Visa,
putting good credit ahead of good morals,
don’t praise Muhammed in a daze we say our grace in front of TV Dramas,
no Buddha dreams just computers screens no real friends just PayPals,

& maybe that’s why it's easier to be blind than to see,
maybe that’s why we hide in museums behind Valentino sunglasses,
because we'd rather have expense tastes than be free,
but when you’re behind any type of four walls you’re trapped in,
whether on a Penthouse terrace with Paris in Paris,
or doing hard-time for white collar crimes with Madoff in a Federal pen,
either way we’re victims of our own additions trying to buy more time,
but running out of credit as banks are collapsing & the recession is relapsing,

so why even buy things when we know not so secretly,
that only Love will set us free from these retro restrictions & their trappings,

see,

the best things in life still are still free,
& yeah liberation is expensive & self renovations are extensive,
but freedom is priceless so live a life that's righteous,
seems that the Love Pyramid is the only pyramid that’s not a Ponzi scheme,

because we are all equal even if we’re not all treated equally,
that’s why some have no clothes while others wear designer denim jeans,
but these Diesels're 2 tight on my thighs this macabre carnival has no prize,
& I can do anything I want with my life but all I really want to do is breathe,

breathe,

breathe because this lifestyle is expensive,
but freedom is priceless,
even though they'll try to capitalize off of anything,
so they market it & try to price it,

I just,
want to find a place to relax & release,
& be free of all of this,
find true love & say “Fck off to the politicians & all their politics!”,

fck their programs fck their projects,
fck their ugly agendas dressed in artificially splendid splendor,
fck their quotas & their motives for treating human beings as objects,
fck their pre-programed consumerist culture of conmen capitalists,

fck there putting machines over human beings,
just to increase the place where their profit sits,
& I say all of this regardless of who it offends because I'm not an Apologist,
I'm more of a Lyrical Pharmacist,
who serves indiscriminate prescriptions in the form of transcriptions,
in order to assist in the additions that come from positive developments,
which will occur for sure once we switch the position we currently sit in,
& restore Divine Order once more in the name of Humankind's betterment,

in the game of life I play,
they know I'm so official that I don't even need a Letterman,

I just,
don’t know what else to say,
I don’t know why I’m at this museum in Vienna,
hiding away on the top floor writing this to you on a Sunday,

on the 5th floor got it all but I just want to give more,
I just want to gift these words then make my escape,
don't you get it I don't want to get more ****t,
if anything I just want to find a way to give more of what I have away,

just want to be alone,
but also want these words to be known so the truth can be shown,
but where do you go when you’re tired totally over it all,
& all you want to do is rest & write these poems,
but even with all you have you still don't know where to go,
because even with all these things you still don't have a home...

Hello,
could you please pick up the phone,
I’m calling because I still love you,
& I want to come back to you even though I know I’m already gone,

currently on the top floor of the Mumok museum in Vienna,
the floor is the 5th to be exact,
& yeah it’s true that I don’t know where I’m going,
but what I do know is I don’t think I’m ever coming back,

online & off track,
writing more words with more rhymes,
than any other living writer in contemporary times,
& no I'm not lying 'cause I'd never lie to you & yes those are both actual facts,

& yeah that’s a fact & yeah you can Google that,
but I’m going to follow that fact with a question,
before I forget to mention,
let me just ask you what I'm doing here in Vienna?



What am I doing in Vienna,
staring at cold sterile pop art as the whole entire world we're on burns,
in a city I never wanted to go to,
doing things that never really seemed that inspiring,

& it's not that I have an antipathetic attitude towards these pathetic fools,
in fact it's actually just the opposite of that because I'm an actual optimist,
which is why I don't feel inspired by bored cyborgs their wires or their tools,
& precisely why I'd rather gather flowers than be an actor for their power,

see I find more inspiration in a single leaf on a single tree by a river bank,
than from all the colors & lines contained within the walls of this museum,
which is why when I'm asked all the time what kind of poetry I read,
I reply I don't even read poetry see I don't find it in books I find it in seasons,

It's the same reason I don't need to go to church to pray,
because I don't need my messages from God to be translated by a human,

anyways where am I at & what am I doing?

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

from The Holy Trilogy Vol. 2: Mandalas
available worldwide 08/08/18
EgoFeeder May 2013
To the shadows of branches that were erasing all light
and sheltering creatures that were hidden in night
Lurkers like me who can do nothing but hide
In perpetual solitude my time I must bide

Demonic imps were dancing by the treeline
With horrid faces of the queerest design
Intriguing my interest to enter the wood
Pulling me closer to the hill where they stood

Their song and dance had now faded to chant
As I hid by a bush becoming more reluctant
Suddenly they stopped and crept to a glare
Reveal yourself at once we know you hide there!

I'm sorry strange beasts I mean you no harm
As a matter of fact i'm infected with charm
Those words that you speak arrange to invigor;
my ear and thy mind the sound it does trigger

The skeptical sprites began to laugh and say
If you want to join in then come right away!
Drink fast this elixir for it will calm your mind
If thou art lord then he you will find

I took hold of the goblet with a hesitant sigh
The expressions around me had then turned so sly
I was beginning to ponder their commode and delight
and how I had not once left their sight

Is this some sort of antipathetic indignation?
What will be the extent of my inebriation?
I felt uneasy and I just had to ask
what manner of life lay under your masks?

Long we've been dead as you presumably guessed
We live in absence and are merely here as guests
For it's a Sabbath Night and 'tis our only vocation;
To meet with our followers at this very location

we've been waiting for hours but seen only you:
We need a mortal man to do what we do
So if I may return from my digression
It is time to begin the eve of possession!

As he finished his words I looked down at my drink
Examined the substance and began to think;
Of the words from a poet with peculiar luck
Write the unwritten and **** not lest ye be ******!

So, I Swallowed my pride and the brew as well
To embark on my unknowing journey through hell
My vision began to wither into the ugliest distortion
I knew at that moment there was no chance for abortion

My new found company began to frolic with joy;
For it was their Christmas and I was their toy
They cried and wallowed the hymns of the ******
Furiously racing around the most sacred Hexagram
Teezy Apr 2016
Human nature seems to let you down when you need compassion most.
Slow to give a helping hand but quick to boast.
Vibes of the world leads the young to feel the grass is greener on the other side.
When really the end of the genuine helps the antipathetic to multiply.

Adolescent minds learn to move up from dragging their brothers behind.
Slow waterfall of hate leaves death and pain to accumulate and never subside.
13 year old girls raising baby's to follow down the same avenues as their childish mothers.
Never receiving unconditional love to pass to the abused girl selling her body to help her younger brother.

16 years young found in a pool of blood by his baby mother and his juvenile child.
Shirts plastered rest in peace to my brother, the good die young never had a chance to reconcile.
With his father who sat in the crack house with the OG's and the dope boys he looked up to for years.
Never realized how long his untimely death would bring painful sickening tears.

Bible on the corner and pistol in the center.
praying hands on his chest but bullet through the temple.
Paralyzed mother in the chair young toddler on the phone with the police.
"My mommy's hurt my daddy's dead police man help me please!"

Lords prayer on the wall with shadows of raised hands being lifted.
Elevated not for the good of God but to come down striking on a women to be restricted.
Loss of a child from the constant stress and impure molestation.
Sisters telling her to leave but she refuses as she smiles numb to the painful sensation.

Lord we pray a change will come our young can't handle the unjust extinction.
Just only if our brothers would subdue the violence and just listen.
Raphael Cheong Dec 2013
Nights like these
Accompanied by the howling
Not of the wind
But of my cranium
Slowly caving in
We are swayed constantly
Like willows in the breeze
From perception to perception
Until we know not
Who we are anymore
What is to be believed?
Who is the enemy?
My thoughts have long formed legs
Not two, nor four, but plenty
But more is not always merry
They struggle to keep their balance
But fail
So I am
Traipsing with tangled feet
C l e a r
M y
M i n d
For me
Please
Buy me sympathetic placidity
Buy me apathetic innocence
Buy me antipathetic ignorance
Anything but what I am now
Would be good
I dream of blue lakes and clear skies
But do they really exist?
I sleep in a labyrinth
And wake up
To the hustle and bustle of escapees
We are all but only human
We are lost souls
We are amateurs grabbing tightly
To the manual of How To Live
While concurrently
Playing God
As if we are all that holy
I know not what I am
I know not what we all are
I sleep in a labyrinth
And I awaken
To a stampede
Of people rushing back and forth
In a desperate bid to reach the top
But the way out of the labyrinth
Is not the top
Is it?
Perhaps I am too easily shaken
Too vulnerable for my own good
But I could grapple with the notion of self-control
And perhaps I really should
y i k e s Nov 2013
Less than two years ago, you were my best friend.
We would stay up every night and talk, creating fictional worlds were we lived our dreams.
Two antipathetic, pessimistic kids against the world.
Running on little sleep, we'd create this worlds until we ran out of ideas.
Then destroy them and start over.

A year ago, things changed.
Like all good ideas, you run low on them.
So we stopped creating and talked about us, our life, and how we'd end up.
Hours on end, we'd talk about how we had no future, no path, and how we'd create our own.
But then something else happened, you made new friends that year.
I already had new friends.
They're great friends, I never had friends like them.
I'd try to tell stories about them like you did with yours, but you'd give me a 'cool' answer.
So I shut up.
They too meant the same to me that you did.
After all, you're my best friend too.
But like best friends do, I never left you.
I never could.
You were my best friend.

Less than four months ago, it was my birthday.
Like all birthdays, that day wasn't special for me.
Birthdays never are special to me.
I apologized for not buying you a gift for your birthday earlier that year.
My dad had lost his job last year and I'm low on cash
Plus, I'm not doing too good mentally, and emotionally.
You said it's fine, and got me a gift anyway.
With that gift, you wrote a letter.
You're not good with words, but you were saying I saved your life and I'm your best friend.
None of your friends get you quite like I do.
I cried, because for the most part, it's the same for me.

Less than a month ago, you stopped talking to me.
Our conversations grew into petty arguments anyway.
You never did listen to me.
I should've known you never did care from the way you never listened to me.
You would talk about yourself, and not care about me
And if I did, the answers were so vague.
okay, cool
But I still ached to talk to you.
I'll never know why.
Another thing I'll never know is, if I truly was your friend
How would it be so easy to forget me?
97% based off of true events.
Joel M Frye Feb 2015
trace your faded prints upon the dirt
around them, mud congeals to form my hurt
failing falling stars confuse my path

I shuffle feet for miles but stay inert
all false the trails refusing to subvert
antipathetic strands to stir my wrath

The trees all flay themselves to spill the secrets
thou swore undying oath to never keepest
lest all worlds align to hide the truth

Pausing, taking breaths beneath the deepest
floors of pits that tenderly would keep us
undestined, lost and wild to know our youth

And seek you out I must, I must, I will,
at universe's end, a galaxy
where we would rest, reborn; become, to be
where every breath relaxes into still

Ever will you walk alone, until
you witness me in my entirety
Come, my unforgotten one, you see
arrival less one is a bitter pill
Helen got her attention grabbed by Dante's sonnet variation; she made a helluva run at it, and asked a bear for direction while pondering through the woods.  Oh, bother....  ;)
Helen Jun 2014
I trace your faded prints upon the dirt
around them, mud congeals to form my hurt
failing falling stars confuse my path

I shuffle feet for miles but stay inert
all false the trails refusing to subvert
antipathetic strands to stir my wrath

The trees all flay themselves to spill the secrets
thou swore undying oath to never keepest
lest all worlds align to hide the truth

Pausing, taking breaths beneath the deepest
floors of pits that tenderly would keep us
undestined, lost and wild to know our youth

And seek you out I must, I must, I will,
at universe's end, a galaxy
where we would rest, reborn; become, to be
where every breath relaxes into still

Ever will you walk alone, until
you witness me in my entirety
Come, my unforgotten one, you see
arrival less one is a bitter pill
My attention was grabbed by Dante's sonnet variation; true story is I got my knickers in a twist because I couldn't make it work and threw it into the woods where luckily a very smart bear was able to claw it into a work of art :)
Thank you Bear :)
Ryan O'Leary May 2021
I am anti septic because I fear the
poison people

I am anti seismic because poison
people have nuclear bombs

I am anti semantic because He Brew
is Guinness thus poison to an alcoholic

I am anti-emetic because the metaphorical
***** of this poem is poison to Palestinians.
Norman Crane May 2021
"Credit? Debit?" / "Mastercard."
Card goes in. Entering PIN.
BeepBeepBeepBeep. Remove card.
Processing—I listen
to the cold ambient music.
"Thank you, and have a nice day."
"You too." / The cashier sounds sick.
I have nothing more to say.
The same words repeated day
after day. a ritual
antipathetic display
of our common plastic soul–
lessness.
Alē Aug 2018
I feel the sky
Parting in so many ways

My life hurts my
ears
Oh madness
If I could tear
you open
see what's inside of you
If I could **** myself
I could be fine

Sweet agony &
apathy

These words speak
wisdom
Steer dreams

Apathy

If you could be
If you could see

Mockery

Despite knowing
this I hold it together

I hold for years
dreaming of the
sea
Oceans dark
& antipathetic

I wish it could
rain on days
like this
But I'm afraid of
water
& it hurts my skin

Kiss
Disease
freedom

Why can't I live
another day like this
another day like this

Beauty
hurts

Wisdom

Goodnight

— The End —