Novus Ordo Seclorum [43]

All Seeing Eye,
in all ways always has It’s all seeing eye on me,
& you might think that in a way that makes me paranoid,
but in all actually it makes me much more comfortable if anything,
because I’ve got nothing to hide in all honesty,
even though there’s two sides to me like I’m Siamese,
& I’m buzzing like a drunken honed in honeybee,
& I see everything even when drinking absinthe as an absent absentee,

'cause I was told that I may hold all that I see & all that I see is everything,
because all of me at any time is capable of seeing anything,

just like the All Seeing Eye that keeps it's eye on me,

honestly honesty is still the best policy,
see even though they still attempt to dilute these truths by telling lies,
I'm still able to describe these truths successfully,
through the modus operandi that I choose to use at any given time,

see these gifts are given & received,
with a well thought of methodology that’s made of modesty,
same mold that was honed by the greatest minds this world's every known,
not mold as in fungus but mold as in the template of successful artistry,

though I must admit when I first started writing scripts I was a bit diffident,
which is different than indifference but anyways either way,
I one day realized the significance within it's magnificence,
& chose to show it since I wrote it so it could be given away,

but I made one promise,
as a poet on that day,
& that was to be modest,
but also have the confidence to not let doubt get in my way,
but it's hard to stay modest when you've written more modified sonnets,
than any other literary artist that's living today,

plus your words are some of the hottest & the girl you've got is a Goddess,
& you’ve made possible what was once thought to be impossible,
as an apostle who's gospel is God-sent in the words of rivals & bibles,
not as a disciple of Jesus Christmas but a disciple of this Divine Existence,

& that's why I see them trying to boost my pride,
& why at the same time I try to resist it,
because I promised to stay modest plus if I'm to be honest,
it wasn't me that made this all happen it was the poetry that did it,

& all of a sudden in a flash & in this instance,
my instinct tells me that it's possible they’ve spotted me,
& it's time for me to flee so I get lost so I can write more life lines,
instead of staying here risking getting caught & writing my own eulogy,

as I observe them like stars in Astronomy,
& observe their behavior like signs in astrology,
as an Anthropologist not an Apologist I observe them,
them this system they live in & all of this honestly,
including this Bureaucracy which is actually a hyper inflated Hypocrisy,
but honestly their mockery of our honesty doesn’t really bother me,
because unconditional Love is my only philosophy,
like Spinoza laying the basics of ethics in the literary form of poetry,
as I serve sermons religiously & responsibly to break the monotony,
& build bridges to doorways to construct my own autonomy,
changing the whole social topography & emotional geography of this society,
by writing the autobiography of our collective ecology & all of it’s prophecies,

I pay dues do the work & the math so in due time I can study Deuteronomy,

I am a prodigy,
& also an oddity,
that will not be brought down or bought off,
by Their Demonistic Mock Democracy,
armed with a picture perfect memory & an unlimited supply of energy,
I expose these moments from dark to light like photography,
from the Dark Room to the Light of Day,
it’s all part of our odyssey whether or not it's all done consciously,

see my conscience sees,

that The All Seeing Eye,
in all ways always has It’s all seeing eye on me,
& you might think that in a way that makes me paranoid,
but in all actually it makes me much more comfortable if anything,
because I’ve got nothing to hide in all honesty,
even though there’s two sides to me like I’m Siamese,
& I’m buzzing like a drunken honed in honeybee,
& I see everything even when drinking absinthe as an absent absentee,

'cause I was told that I may hold all that I see & all that I see is everything,
because all of me at any time is capable of doing & seeing anything,

just like the All Seeing Eye that keeps it's eye on me,

feeling,
alright with the All Seeing Eye on me,
seeking,
all night for some sobriety from this anxiety,
reaching,
a point of enlightenment that shines vibrantly,
teaching,
illuminations of thought that soak into the subconscious silently,

finally, I’m free,

& as I rise above the clouds I see,
the All Seeing Light above watching me,
& that’s alright with me I give myself up willingly,
traded my gifts for a gift card now I’m on a 24/7 worldwide shopping spree,

finally, I’m free, & finally, I see,

that the All Seeing Eye,
has it’s all seeing eye on me,
illuminating all of the darkness,
so that we can all shine on vibrantly,

finally, finally,
I am, you are, we are free!

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

from The Holy Trilogy Vol. 2: Mandalas
available worldwide here: www.amazon.com/dp/1721134158

Take me back to the
Ashtray, in which we burned
Incense, in the front
Of my truck

Flick your ash out the
Window. Keep an eye out for
Anyone working harder than we
Believe they should. Or danger.

Read me a story. Tell me
How he’s not what you thought.
Diffuse the red dye of your
Stained words through the air.
Breathe deep. Hold for ten.

Delete the stanzas, re-read,
Test foundation under shaky limbs.
Burn your bra, don’t turn around.
Forget.

Become the bare-footed rockstar in
His maharishi mansion.
Hating hate, with vivacious volition.
Crusade against indifference.

Retire to your riches. 
Numb out everything they’ve already said.
And have foresight, of what they haven’t.
Novus Ordo Seclorum.
Defeat the mundane.

Return to your home world. 
Return to the truck. 
Light the **** incense.
Don’t ash on the rug.

Gray waves of glowing
Boredom wash over your 
Pre-glossed eyes.

Dance, clouds!
These will serve as your instructions.
She will serve as your guide.

Hold on, for dear life. 
Sometimes the inconsequentiality,
Can send you through the shield.
Novus ordinary Seclorom

yes, i understand diacritical arithmetic, odd, isn't it, that so few people pay attention; e.g.? mötórhead: which for english ******* is written in excessive spelling as: mootoorhed... english becomes so ugly so soon, the **** language can't help itself, given its dyslexia outpouring, english become ugly the minute you attach, but one diacritical distinction, gulp oh the differences between A and ah, and count the breath, which is H, in english... the slowly oozing curling slither of a python... the english language hides plenty of aesthetic cruelties, medusa-gorgons, snakes in wine barrels, you need but one diacritical investment in this edenic tongue, that rose to the propensity of a british empire, with the daft belief, that little england would never arrive, so sure they were, to not revise the latin bet, by adding "barbaric" distinctions... now you have you sally aussie, and your tom-boy canna.

and why am i not reciting my verse,
on the odd occasion,
i do listen to spoken word,
to poetry being recited, rather than composed,
and sure, it has a decent amount
of attention... but... but!
what's with all the hysteria?!
every, single, poet, i listen to,
is hysterical! these days madmen speak
with a more calmer countenance than
these "poets"!
perhaps i'm buying my time,
but the shrill of these efforts to perform
makes the hyenas seem inviting,
it makes a tiger's roar a cat's meow,
and yes, the prime "defence" of poetry,
or "technique" namely that
of rhyme, it's still vogue, rather than a
faux pas, but only if it's not methodological,
if it's not systematic,
   the cute bit on the side,
the spontaneity of:
   within the prose - the classy origin
of the beaten drum -
rhyming like that works,
but systematic rhyming belong in the 19th
century...
        no one would dare write,
within the guiding help of a poetic school,
just like painters wouldn't paint
within a school of cubistic replication...
rhyming is dead,
because poets had to write a prosaic
"aversion" of themselves -
given that prose itself: became all too
simplistic, therefore?
   *poetry is the new prose /
   ars poetica est prosa novus;
right, that's settled then,
we won't be hearing an argument about this
observation, any time soon...
people have become bored
with the imbalance of over-complicated
characters, who are studied too often
and to an even greater extent than
is necessary, while the narrator dwindled
beneath them, in their shadow...
   people enjoy crafty narrators,
intelligent narrators -
     the only medium that care little
for such narrators, and much for
the most versatile and inventive characters
is the movie industry,
or the art of writing scripts -
  where the narrator plays the most
glorifying aspect of any writing genre:
the pawnbroker,
   and in more kinder words:
     the invoker of pawns as the shields
for the grander pieces of drama,
nonetheless: indispensable,
  and securely staged with an honourable
purpose.
- and yet, every time i watch these
recital videos by poets,
  i can't feel but a certain pinch of salt
on a freshly made wound,
   or the idea of eating raw onion, or garlic,
or for that matter, ******* on a lemon
and not providing slapstick humour
with the ****** expression that ensue;
the sheer desperation, the sheer
"heroics" of *****-fits, the mere exasperation!
i have yet to come across a soothing
voice in the current poetic zeitgeist,
a sane voice,
           and as all critiques tend to show:
apart from the vanity project,
  that is me;

i guess the best i can do, is leave you with
a quote from jack spicer from
his poem: ode to walt whitman...

  along east river into queens
the kids were wrestling with industry.
the jews sold circumcision's rose
to the faun of the river.
   the sky flowed through
               the bridges & rooftops -
herds of buffalo the wind was pushing.

p.s. his output was hardly the stuff of
prodigy, but sometimes:
  saying the least, is saying: just enough;
me? i'm a rapacious wizard -
  first i'd write an encyclopedia -
then a dictionary,
       but that is not to suggest it's a forced
error of "expertease" -
      namely? either the anti-thesis of
the christian third party (the zeitgeist)
took grip of me,
  or some other wielding demoniac artefact
of my "idle hands" spurned me on...
it doesn't matter,
    a 1000 mediocre,
             equals 1 that's popular -
but popular is never: the finer effort -
just a congested, constipated drag of
having to recite, recite, recite,
recite, over & over & over again -
that one popular brooding...
  
if you'd know, you'd also know that writing
1000 "mediocre" verses -
is less teasing an overcast of boredom
and tedium,
        or as kant said in his grave of
english society:
    i said that the categorical imperative is
to live by one maxim, alone!
one!
    these english are throwing maxims
left, right and centre,
      and i call that: the imperative of fickleness!
if not toward.

i might recite something one day,
but i'm waiting for the hysterics of today,
to hush down, and so that silence can
overwhelm these "poets" -
    and, in the end? scare them.

We fell in time
with the heartbeat of this city
Our eyes blinded
by the bright lights of Times Square

Both of us craving
the sweet summer sun
and the soft suburban stars
of home

But both of us afraid
that we may have found a new home
on the banks of the Hudson river
beneath the red Manhattan moon

Too sweet to slow down
Too quick to ask questions
Too late to build walls
Too soon to take them down

Clashing lights from the shadows;
Thundering in constant motion
Red swarms overtaking the blue nights,
A grand disturbance -
Raging through the cosmos
Shifting the course of this endless strife
(Wake up now,
We have misconstrued our fate)
Spiraling forth, into nebulous unknown
The force flows from within;
Embrace the cause -
To restore a balance lost aeons ago

Gears turning towards a lie
Deceived by peace
Crucial moments for the light;
Two tides collide

Detrimental,
Sacrifices,
Interstellar transmutation
Exiled till, the return of the progeny
Remnants of the order
Confined to, the corners of the galaxy
Strengthened, by the chosen one

Fallen hero;
Exalts into gradeur
Shining greater than the stars
Universal luminescence
Macrocosmic ~
As Above So Below

Frequencies resonating,
Constructing wretched Elysium
Eternal cataclysm,
Decimation

A massive surge of power;
Lost, following the stars of scripture
Kingdoms falling one by one ~
NOVUS ORDO

Symmetry unfolds
Visions pass
Fallacies expose
Divine excursion

Escape the stasis
Elevate, frame of mind
Amidst resistance;
Ignite lucidity
Harmony engulfs,
This fractured existence

A vow to bask in the wisdom of Betelgeuse , free of physical Earths bridle , discoveries chalice brimmed ad infinitum* ....

my heart is on fire
one half cup espresso, a vape
and a song that drapes my heart in a purple fire,
with the same purple glow inside the go go bar
where that dancer handed Bukowski a dried lily
But only for a moment.

lesson #104 and the
music rides a sine wave into
my left ear.
I sat upon a lotus pad and kept
a straight back
the Angelus Novus couldn’t (insert link)
close its wings against
the winds of Paradise so
elated were the Gods by the
progress of man.
so high the rubble of the wreckage the
view from its summit rivaled the
vantage gained from
standing atop the Six Grandfathers within the
Four-headed Dog from across the pond.

national broadcast in the jungle and
all the box would do is
talk
and all the cockroaches would do is
persist
and all the machetes would do is
hack
and all the bodies burned
and Felicien Kabuga was kindly granted asylum by the West
and remained at large for over 25 years.
THANKS A LOT SWITZERLAND.
(insert link)

Can we think old thoughts as thought by earlier readers,
without walling a mind off from all we know,
which Hobbes had no way of learning,
though? No.
We need this knack of we being, a you and a me, seeing
an I, in a time long ago.

Egalitarian sortings of men, arrogation worth,
a-dam, novus knower,
acknowledge me your equal? Dare ye, I may be a fool.
Levelers were around, in Hobbes's town, taking time
to bring the highest minded down,
not to lift the baser sort up.

-- none the less, lime the branch,
-- by chance a bird may bring a word, watch

we heard, the deceived received a reprieve,
we've found the edge stitched in
second thoughts and other wise guesses as good,
good enough
to keep life as we have agreed, conserving
the power in the
word - life as in -- we live, not me without you or we
without all the otherwise functionaries,
maintaining the planet and aching
to settle down to day and night,
just right.

Balance in being part of it all,
restored,

for a second there, didjafeel it?

Startle response! Wake--

When danger is ante
cipated,0h
--0n
lego-h-overedge aver
age
verbage re sighin'

clinging vines from debunked strings and
threads twisted wit'em.

Assume, if ye may or plea or will as
ye wont, pray means ask.

That's all.
Here, wit'afewmisstook aitches and spaces:
here is what we got,

a fresh secret story, un concerning anything you
believed you believed of/from/about idea ifify ie able ity ness

Reason requires response, Will Robinson.
Hidden persuaded, almost,
but lost...

Really,
what sacrifice bought
young John Carson to sublimnal
top 0'the mind status,
for the first two tv
generations?

Who do you trust? Carson's tv game
show debut, aimed at after school,
junior high, latch key,
wait staff on swing shift or graveyard,
the entire set of doin' nuttin'
'round Tea, fancy goin'

head t' head wit' Mickey Mouse Club,
on all the UHF stations out west.

It's 1957, who do you trust?
Time's man o'the year,
The Hungarian Freedom Fighter Idea,
the first stiffed
equal-value re
belicose cold war victim
of the famine for the grammar
of kindness and good sense
associated with DNA,
little green apples, puppy dogs,the
straight up command to love them that hate ye,
enemies and other words for folk
who would just as soon **** you
as hear one more word
about peace.

VOG,
words were scrambled,
christic crypt vacuum
tube
signal to noise ratio, caliber calculater pro
jection on to the rerewall o'yeardamnedbrain,

VOG Cancel
Bozo. This ad will **** for us. We can own the
'earts and minds of every grammar 'ater ever.

Since Babel, since Eber 'is 'ebrew ef-
fective, fervent...strainer at jots and tittlishit
self.

This ad makes mistook rules po'man laughable,
punch'n'judy'ishit:

Whom
do you trust, the grammarian so like so many
Deweyish proguess
edumacated teachers, you had this teacher,

squint, wrinkle nose, tight jibbs
frameless wire rimmed specs, a greying bun,

flower print dress wit' the weest bit o'lace,
lipless snide corrector's face. A trope archetype,
heroes re
bel
on demand, that was the plan. It
started with

AN AD. Who do you trust? Black and white,
Here's Johnny standing under the billboard,
y'know,
for the show, standin' like *******, shoulders
shrugged, palms up, elbo's bent

(contenintal suit, note the skinny tie, why?)
Who do you trust? Innocent grin, wordless
"Who knows?" or "knew"?

Whodjewtrust, in 1957? Cronkite, nicht wahr?
See the USA in the USA

in yo' Chevrolet, ole!
Yew should try Ritalin, for pep.

Take Serutan tonight, and sleep, safe and restful,
sleep, sleep sleep

VOG (Scourby) and, remember Serutan is Natures,
spelled backwards. Cue the choir,

safe and restful, sleep, sleep fade away

----
Where were you in 1962? Off t'college,
watchin' Johnny of Johnnies,

Johhny Quest, Johnny Lighting, Johnny Carson on

Tonight, there's more...
after the news, the dayroom in the dorm,

this is whence the quips in the quad were to be
sharpened wit'

fashion able ible tips, to fit the Esquire *** Hef
uniform dress code of mutual hidden

persuadeds.

Some souls were spared the spread of the
original tv virus, VHF, couldn't penetrate
the canyon...never subjected
to Howdy Doody,
our brains were spared the
complexes planted via the sit
com cowboy war subplot
phase of novus ordo
secluremishitistcal
experiments in
alientated
mind control.
We lived in the desert, in a place

a lot like Oscar's Oasis,
a wordless Korean Cartoon
set in a desert much like mine. On Netflix, 2019.

I did not watch the mandated ten thousand hours,
even when the deadline for party affiliation

mental ascent was ex
tended, circa 1985, pre-
tending to be a measure of de
fencing public universities from the
effect of rock and roll,

since about 1964

with folk like Dylan and Baez and Hallelujah
Jubilee and Jambalaya on d'Baya,
Herb's brass on the Baja, where all the girls
work it,
like 'otel Kali phornia, sticky,

sweet, like a taste of Honey. Mr.Bond,
meet Miss
Galore. OH GOD, in the car from the speaker
she heard the idea the meaning

in the name, oh god, she squeezed my hand.

Honor Blackman plays that role, she whispered.

Trust me. It's a good plan. We got these kids!

Mom and dad just won the war, had six kids in five years,

Levittown di'n't work out, couldn't go home,
mixed marriage, from the war.

Things hap, cajun catholic wannabe aerospace engineer spy guy,
lands in Alamagordo and environs,
Summer 1944.

Here we are, Equinox, loosing season, 2019,

so some prayers were for real.

Red somthin'r'other butterflies are riding a rare breeze
from the south to the north through my
makepeace home. My peace I give,
he said,
all that passed is unexplored, take all the time

you can imagine.

My wife knows the names of those butterflies,
that's part o'm'peace. Knowin' she cares to remember
such improbably beautiful things;

soul possessed in patience, is she.

footnote 1: Despite Ciba’s efforts to market Ritalin as a ‘pep pill’, the stimulant failed to become a best-seller.  But that was not the end of Ritalin’s story.  As early as the 1930s, psychiatrists working at a children’s psychiatric institution in Rhode Island, USA had noticed that stimulant drugs could have a positive effect on the academic performance and behaviour of troubled children.  Although few psychiatrists took notice of these observations at the time, by the late 1950s, escalating concern about the educational abilities of American children during the height of the Cold War encouraged Ciba to consider a new application for their drug: underachieving schoolchildren.  They received approval from the American Food and Drug Administration (FDA) to market Ritalin to children in 1962 and, almost immediately, it became a best-selling drug (google it I didn't write the footnote pard but I forget where I got it.)

2020 - day 181

Monday, June 29, 2020
9:39 AM

one new day with no agenda, plenty of water and fresh air,

I walk a mile according to GPS, encouraging me
one daring deed done,

what's next? Write readable words, breathe life into readers,
read them,
without you, there are no living words, dear reader, rare
as you can imagine you are,
unique, an itty bitty unique being, on the grand scale.

Living words live in living readers... hmmm, never imagined
that,
did we become farmers first or story tellers?
it's in the meme's
more than the genes, the giants men imagined in the past
memetics passed in spiced wine mulled with stones
from the edge of fire
where we entertain such strangers as come upon us
unawares

⌱⌱

the price of my attention is what I choose to pay.
is it mine?
my attention, yes,
it
is my own to pay with.
What am I buying?
Whence comes this
currency
most valued in my time?
2020 vision plainly placed to catch
those of us,
our kind, dear readers in times of performance art
acting right... as deemed
by the academy
of performing artificers...

Daedelus, make me an imaginary universe in which I may
be mayor.
May shall be
my word, but here, in mine and mr. hicks peaceful kingdom,
may is yours to use as you will,
dear reader role deafault mode,
may being the impetus in the petition we agree to re
petere
to pass those impearled palisades of instuted gnowns
holy-way-outer-otherwise
saints and disconnected, click
st. peter -- all those pearly gate jokes, those pearls financed
nuance novus ordum did dump dump dump

-- look what the pigs ate.
-- naquered NAND gates in series, shitcity wecan go any where, from here

we could build a Yeti world from yak turds, according to
grandaughter number two's review
of Smallfoot, the -- what is this? new truth to reveal the old truth
which is this truth re

presented as drama of original intention, aimed at children,
my grandchildren,
memes reinforcing heresy as a silly gift intended for kidding... poking
stuck in the mud old dudes into the now,
your now, my future...

nice

haecceity, I think is the term that yoosto mean uni-kitty,

quit. really, as real as you may imagine --- There is a character,

known well to my granddaughter noel,
Unikitty -- quit, you are kidding
(playing by saying an unbelievable thing, testing an olden
rule,

is this that, ex-act, post-done? only kidding, we yoosto say.}

to ti esti, as Aristotle is said to have said, in Wikipedia,

{beta galactic encyclopedia, eh, 2020 tech is enough,
we can finish art ify ing the substance of hope,
set a watchman,
build on that rock,   -- kidding, I see the key peter issue lock
spring open

in my future, may hap or no, who knows?
Eh?
He knows what grows, who knows what seed he sows.}

Were we to agree we listen to voices singing the same tune,
often in time with more mind in default
wandering mode, fretless, fectless functional bliss,

in some songs we get carried a way, a meme away a meme away
we
leavened a world with new hope ***, and boom,
babies, all over the world,

and war claims the reason... the worth to be set on historic scale,
of winning the power of the
cultural corporate mind's will to POWER, bogus sci-******* vision,

woe is us, the truth has been eradicated,

we stand, one nation, under God... since the summer of 1954.

But words and pictures, now, for history, we have witnesses
who, technically, cannot lie.

we have moving pictures in technicolor with grand artworks of music
tuning us in to to

to ti esti, the what it is question's answer. What it is?
Word, old dude, Blue Mountain Rastaman, to ti esti, be

******* way t'say what it is. Tiswhatis.

Watchadoinswatchadoin t'me. I'm fine. Made up m'mind t' be agreeable.
Jes' don' lie, fit me to d' T. {wink} AI mind if you mind, but not much.

Just is. Why? Just is, Why,

what if I

wish to breathe another at most fear into
our bubble of life
on earth

what if I

wish to lie and insist you lie with me, mind ****,
our public perception of personal freedom
on penalty of DSM 5 inclusions

Woowoo new to you, novus ordo seclurum

just now, you knew you knew
something hidden popped,

like a societal bubble.
It was war, we won.

But, it's all just mental. One way or another.

Today my son, on your 19th
birthday you are to receive
the Corona of the Kingdumb.

Subjects of the realm and all
our dominions shall be at
your disposal and every whim.

Knighthoods for those that do
your bidding and lesser mortals
kept in awe of your sovereignty.

Hear Ye Hear Ye, Hark and pay
homage to King Covid of the
"NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM"

.   Novus Zumbi    .
Kiwi's have always
been known as the
Passionless People
a derivative  of their
puritanical Scottish
background just as
the Protestant north
of Ireland, so their
transition from UK
WASP to US WASP
was only a matter of
swapping a shepherd
and border collie for
a remote controlled
      Bald Eagle.