First date just ended
and quickly after I left
as the headache set in
barely catching my breath
it feeds off my feelings  
I can feel it creeping its way in
A case of the lovebug
Has got me again
Coughing up sweet words
Going faint from the comfort
This is how it always begins
It stole all of my thoughts
And gently erased them
Sweetly crawling around in my brain
Rearranging, rewiring, they all work the same
I was too doped up to realize  
That this case is so serious, my sanity died
And now it’s too late
All I can think about
Is your hand in mine
Your face
Your eyes
****** delusions and lies
And still I’m rather quite hopeless
Desperate, caught in the moment
Helpless to stop it
But why would I want to?

Life is the treasure and knowledge is the fire to kindle and wisdom the outcome to distill it

Poverty is taking away food from a fellow human being
Poverty is not being grateful that you have slept having eaten a comfortable meal
Poverty is going out there with a poor self image and using the presence of others to mask your inadequacy
Poverty is not knowing how divine you are, your soul content

Poverty as a woman is not being able to say how you feel and what you feel because you are afraid of rejection or disappointment
Poverty is trying to make a guy feel insecure because you yourself are insecure
Poverty is trying to have multiple ****** relations to either draw a man or men towards you or simply for the sake of trying to fuel your self esteem
Poverty is dreaming and letting the birds talk about it as a could have been
Poverty is stabbing a person you love dearly in the back
Poverty is blaming society, culture and circumstances at home for not progressing forward
Poverty is killing because you are stuck in unorderly primitive and unruly state and you do not know tranquility

Poverty is wanting things to remain the same because it protects you from growth and the awe of advancement
Poverty is living in the past and endlessly trying to change the present
Poverty is not knowing what to say because you have forgotten how to compose yourself in the presence of others
Poverty is thinking for short term satisfaction breeding inevitable lack of long term contentedness

Wealth is inviting the future fearlessly
Wealth is loving abundantly
Wealth is joining the heart's dance by yielding to emotions of pure positive vibrations
Wealth is making the heart intelligent so your desires are not  of a marginal durability
Wealth is seeking the truth because it will wash away the lies and test your bravery as it opens up the wounds and the pain of reality
Wealth is knowing that in giving a lot and asking less more than half the time; you remain abundant
  Wealth is imagining what a future 'you' would be like and in pursuit you strive to make your future self proud
Wealth is having an open mind and seeking first to understand than to be understood
Wealth is trying to find better solutions for either parties, a higher way; which healthily benefits either parties

Wealth is having someone who will support you no matter what
Wealth is sticking to divine principles because they will stand no matter what
Wealth is treating another better than you treat yourself and in essence you treat yourself as the greatest being
Wealth is being patient and persevering for good things because you will honour them as you understand what it took to earn them
Wealth is making a promise and keeping it, it boosts the progress of the whole Universe; even the promises we make to ourselves
Wealth is cleaning up after ourselves and engineering our personhood to not rely on insubstantial and baseless objectives and mantras
Wealth is taking a stand for one's own life and not waiting for a hero to pull up the yardstick
Wealth is going to the dam with a  broken rod and teaching yourself how to fish until a master comes and philosophises your decorum, approach, conduct and credo on the whole process of being independent and going out into the world,
Wealth is unlearning all of the miseducation that we have been fed since the day we were born and relearning and rewiring our psyche to be conscious and cosmically aligned with our divine purposes and use the resources around us to make the raw a tangible gem and vice versa.

Say no to poverty.
Live a sincere life of truth and meaning, we only have so much time to pay off our debts until we're rich enough to give back to the world again.

@cyber
    @punk
headset not
clear enough. can't receive circuitry
rewiring veins back to my
internal mainframe in which two
magnets start to spew out
dystopian propaganda. neon motorcycles
that can turn at any corner
dash through the streets.
concept? oh no
    @end
@function

I'm reading a step-by-step manual on
how to love yourself again.
'Cause although fundamentals may be philosophy,
Rewiring is all physics baby.
We all need a reason to escape gravity
and plunge ourselves out of orbit.
Self-sacrifice isn't worth ****
if you're wired for it.
To stand on the edge of a tall building and
think of jumping.
Inertia and hysteria.
The magnetic pull of your body to the ground.
To return back to dust.
Loving myself is
a little bit like that.

To the boy who broke my heart.
Thank you.
Because you have given me something so much more sweet.
The way her eyes reflect my ear to ear smile as we joke about
Our futures.
Who we want to be when we grow up
And who we don’t.
The way she can always make me laugh harder than you ever could,
My stomach sore.
But not from the skipped meals you forced me into.
Because I was never beautiful enough for you.
The way my parents confuse my heterosexuality for homosexuality
Because my “love poems” are always about her.
The girl
Who knows my soul like the back of her hand
My darkest secrets.
My biggest flaws.
And she doesn’t use it against me.
Romantic feelings are not the key to life I always guessed they were
when you have found the person who can make your life worth living.
Your best friend.
The one who kissed the reflection of you engraved in my wrist.
And no I will never be gay.
But I love her.
She always knows what I need to hear.
When I look like I have never looked in a mirror she still udders the word beautiful
And knowing that I will never believe it she still tries.
She is just as stubborn as I am,
And she has dedicated countless hours to repairing me,
The job you always said you’d take in the first place.
Telling me that the most broken are the most beautiful.
And I know that is true,
Because she is broken just as much as I am.
She has put her problems aside for me,
Spent countless hours rewiring the desire to go back to you.
And now I cannot help but realize that I deserve better.  
To the boy who broke my heart I am happy now.
I am enjoying the small things for the very first time.
As we go camping and I show her the best way to light a fire,
And she does my makeup to where for a moment I feel I am beautiful.
The Monsters cracked after we have stayed up for an exam,
The late night conversations that are always the ones most memorable.  
These are the best moments of my life,
And they weren’t shared with you.
To the boy who first broke my heart.
Thank you.
But gratitude is not forgiveness, and I would not advise coming near me again.
Because she has had a target on your head since the very first tear.
And I know that even when you’re gone she will always have my back
Because that is what true friends do.
To the girl who has made my life complete –
I adore you.

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

The light at the end of the tunnel is actually a sense of worth, of value, of relevance... a sense of purpose and place.
The loss of these took me here.
It is not a light that those in the tunnel control... seemingly forever beyond my reach and unable to believe in value, place or worth.
It was never the aim to switch the light off. It was the hand and judgement of others that threw the switch to off. It is why the light and the switch are on the outside of the tunnel and not in the darkness where I am.
If you give no worth...
If you give no value...
If you give no relevance...
If you give no purpose...
Then there can be no place where the light can shine.

forever is a long time












to wait
for someone
and he waited








for me
for 9 years
until
9 tears
spilled
  d
      o
  w
      n
   his face
   a trace
   of              
         d       n       e
   a                           s
s                                 s

o       l       t       f
n       i       h      r
         n      a      o
t        e      t       m
h       s              
e               r       h
                 a       i
                 n       s


E      E
Y      S
    t
    o
    h
     i
     s
t          s
   o   e

nobody knows
how far this goes
how      o                     n
        o        o           o         g
     l                   o                  she strolls
without (whoa)s

each pebble places puzzles
pedaling peddlers play in puddles

triplet
        o
      twin
        e            tu
   ­     r              mb
        s            le

rumble mumble bumble
                        


                       GO AWAY
                             stay okay

my tires are all tiring
my spark plug is misfiring
my wires need rewiring
my modem is requiring
the answers i’m inquiring
why are we all conspiring
an interweb inspiring
an instant gram empire ring













my Angel waits on HI
                                   BI

We hadn't spoken
Too much had been left unsaid
Now silence sits there

Collecting the dust
Like one of your projects
Waiting to be fixed

Never forgotten
But not cared for as it was
Left 'till much too late

You left suddenly
A quick fix out the back door
Me left unfinished

Still,

I'll remember you
As I choose to- the Tinker
Everything just so

You'd sit at your bench
Stripping the wood of varnish
Bringing out beauty

Polish here, dust there
Every detail adjusted
Perfection strived for

Now that you are gone
Your antiques your legacy
I'll remember you

For the good in you
And I will try to forgive
you the dark hours

I will have to start
Mending memories that you built
A Tinker's daughter

Rewiring my grief
Sitting at your workbench and
Stripping it of guilt

Sit and watch, Tinker
Watch me try to mend a heart
Left in disrepair

Polish here, dust there
Every detail adjusted
Acceptance strived for

I want poetry to break out of it's underground cave
Break out of the solitary lonely, locked cage.


I want my poetry to be capable of inspiring change
I want to illustrate beauty in a verse beautifully maimed
I want to communicate the tender sudden pulse of a surface wound
I want my poetry to be blueprints for change, in the world, or a room
I want to connect the universal nerve of tremors and feelings
I want to connect wires and vessels, shifting cells and ceilings
I want to broadcast this current human condition,
Rewiring like a revolutionary electrician
I want to transcend my, and next time,
With my poems added to anthologies
And each of their lines
Being recited by literary scholars and dedicated readers


But I have accepted some poets are popular during their lifetimes
Like Alice Cary, and Maya Angelou
With acknowledged, renowned, printed
Published Stanzas, and lines.
I want to at the very least, be one of those who guard a hidden, folded..
[Rather than outdated, infamous, tattered and broken]
..genuis.
Or maybe an answer to some past hanging question
Found in the very letters in my words to
The trademarked inflection
Breathing a bashful verse that grew in this universe
Or the next
To strengthen roots of the beauty of language
The older, the wiser, the more interpreted complex
Not the unknown but claimed roots of American poetry
And some
May close the **** kindle. Or rip out the last page.
After I die, I might return with bones live with rage.


Because if nothing has happened, I will continue to say:
I want my poetry to be capable of inspiring change.


Because we are destroying a world we should be killing fighting to save.
(Hopefully this shan't be said again from a grave.)
Each person who has read solely to write one more page
Take your weapons, inspire, engage
None can lay bricks until a clear path is paved.

iii.viii.xii

january found me breaking my resolutions like breathing,
like you always do, no one ever does it like they meant to.
january found me trying to tie to heart myself to somebody else
like body to a brick, sinking, always sinking.
you only ever liked my mouth closed, you only like me smiling.
silent. teeth gritted into a grin.

february never found me.
salvation does not come from bottles or books or other people.
trust me, i’ve tried.

march found me writing, bleeding.
did you know that there is a word for “soul” in almost every language?
correlation does not equal causation, i know this,
but i like to think this means our hearts all beat in the same tempo.
i like to think that we can all build our compassion on common ground.
i have always found poetry to be a good way of slowing life down
into understandable pieces.
this is why we write about tragedy, i think, to make it easier to swallow.
so cities have become synonymous with gunshots.
we pray for paris and orlando and dallas and turkey;
we pray until our mouths go dry.

april found me burying my childhood in the backyard,
a pretending it didn’t ******* burn.
my mother plays purple rain until the vinyl warps,
until it echoes around our house like a catacomb.
her record collection is beginning to look sort of like a graveyard.
my mom says that older you get a lot of things begin to look like graveyards.
when prince died, he was younger than my father was,
but i don’t like to think about that.

may found me rewiring my nervous system
around my systemic nervousness
because i don’t call it anxiety because then if did, i might have anxiety
and *******, it’s only funny after the fact.
may found me trying, bleeding, failing at scrubbing myself
out of my own skin.

june found me sitting at the dining room table
in the pale afternoon light, trying fit my mouth around
the word “tumor” without choking.
my dad keeps saying, “it’s benign”
sipping holy water and brushing his hair down onto his forehead
like he’s hiding, all my life he’s never ever gone into hiding.
even when it was easier not to be himself,
he stood tall.
i always thought all my friend’s parents were so young,
but now i focus in on my father’s grey hair,
think about how in twenty years he might not be there.

july found me having reincarnations of this conversation
with myself on repeat.
i spent summer 2016 drowning, 900 ft above sea level,
because i couldn’t get my head on straight
and no one noticed mostly because i didn’t want them to
and when i blinked it was me and my thoughts in room
and it was suffocating.
june swallowed me up and spit me back out,
july played a symphony of my ribcage
and let the blood soak into the earth.

august found me saying goodbye
until my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth,
i’m told next year will taste the same.
we carry each other inside ourselves, like time capsules and russian dolls.
we are the reflection of the people we love most and the people we hate most.
we don’t grow up we just get lost and found.

september found me eighteen, but also somehow eighteen and eighty.
september found me hiding under my bed and dragged me out
even though i’d made friends
with all the monsters who lived there.
even though i knew all the demons by name.
september found me wanna-be fearless
and trying.

october found me eating my heart out.
truth is my heart is restless, breathless, willing to get tangled up
in anyone who seems willing.
see, i realized last april bleeding into may
that i could argue with you for the rest of my life and be so ******* happy.
see, i decided last june that that didn’t mean ****.
see, last october i didn’t even know you like i know you.
see, last october my heart was like this, too, indecisive,
see, see, see,

november found me waking up to a country
that no longer felt like it could belong to me.
november found my body an apology, my skin a statement,
and my family tree a liability.
november found me every morning waking up in a country that hates me
and sitting down across the table for thanksgiving with people
who voted for a man who makes unsafe in my own skin,
bigotry growing between the hedges and yard signs of my own neighborhood
like i’m looking at my neighbors and wondering which one of them
thinks that this country isn’t mine like it’s theirs.
breaking bread and the american promise,
breaking bones.

december found me drinking white wine out of plastic cups
in someone’s basement and trying to pretend
that you don’t make my skin spark,
make my heart feel like the fourth of july.
and sometimes i still find i am looking for you in everyone else.

i remember the days when i'd spend hours painting, journalling, just enjoying being alone,
and now...i'm afraid of the thoughts that may enter my head during those spaces.
constant spirals of reminders of all that is or could be broken inside of me.
i'm told of god's grace and love,
and i know these truths,
but to truly believe is completely different.
how do i stop striving to make myself holy?
lovable?
good enough?
why can't it just be a simple switch one can turn on and off?
it's a whole new rewiring of neurons and thought patterns.
where do i even begin to change?
it seems so daunting and overwhelming

The newspaper called my father
a Tonsorial Expert and
a Smiling Gentleman
My father whose head is like
a Christmas tree lot on
New Year's Day and
whose mouth was like a rainbow
photographed in sixty-four shades
of gray but
that might have been my fault
even at six
that might have been my fault

He had done
a nice job of hairstyling
according to the pleased
customer, Mr. Holmes
just as he would do
a nice job of mopping floors and
a nice job of rewiring classrooms and
a nice job of growing weaker each day
growing hunched like an unused fishhook but
that might have been my fault
even now
that might have been my fault

Read it and weep is what was said before you sleep of heavy eyes that have cried and cried denying you tried to have a stronger stride in everyone else’s lives realizing the lies of lying beside a hive of pride wears interfered with your fear’s gears given to you by piers to have you stay clear of abiding in tears bestriding you to do best impressing the depressed under arrest for theft of aggressed messes their confesses addressees you to pieces of what was needed reread the succeeded who defeated the pleaded weren’t conceited eventually forfeited.

Apparent parents nonstop watching the clock for when you will stop wallowing in the following inquiring who’s hiring without fault of firing desiring an admiring ring from a team of teens wanting a rewiring of what isn’t giving out a beam of mean to supreme schemes of more than it seems acclaims a frame of you rearranged to set fame to their game.

Dreaming, within a dream
Seeing those, that don't see me
Wondering if it's all due to my projected reality.
Only to wake up to a mind that wants to hassle me.

remember to breathe

I'm still here

Going to leave this head and enter the formless
Embrace all the love that keeps us at our warmest
Find innermost truths, waiting to be found in unconscious corners
Under a white light, joining other performers.

I told my friend as we rested our heads that we can fly
Belief is everything, sensing immediate retreat with the refusal to try

Now I'm in the sky, shaping clouds as they pass by

Even if I can't help everyone rise, I hope to at least paint them something beautiful in their mind's eye.  
Visually stimulating, and absolutely comfortable.
I'm here to remind you that this life is so wonderful.

With each second that flees, we could be, rewiring our circuitry.
Living a life that's driven so purposefully
Stranger shifts have happened,
but this is your vessel, you are the captain
Watching the waves come to me in a rhythmic fashion
Speaking without words, only to express this true passion.  

"..."

I need to visit the man in the mirror
He provides me a smile and dissipates my fear
Even though my own ship, I may not know where to steer..
I know that once all the sediment settles,
The depths of the water that reflect, will become clear~

Bobby,
   I miss you man.  You got your wings to fly to infinity,
Rather than have your feet roam this land.  A few days before you passed, I saw you sitting with a smile in my dreams.  That still frame I now hold onto, and it assists in keeping me at ease.  Few saw the connections in your head rewiring.  It's still hard to imagine your body retiring.  Though your pistons are no longer firing, your soul yet flows.  Energy can never be destroyed, and so it goes, always in motion.  Had we had the clairvoyance to see the outcome, I'd liketo think we would run to you with the potion.  Sometimes it's hard to see beyond the confines of self.  These sobering moments make us realize we are always able to offer help.  ****** buried under the skin now effects the nerves of us all.  You were bigger than your body, and now we know that no impact is too small.  I heard you saved a life, just before you lost yours.  Reminding us to spread our light, forever on this course.  As action put perspective into hypothetical contemplation, I wonder if there would still be the funeral if we had one more conversation.  Inadvertently, you brought so many together.  There we stood with heads bowed down under the rain in a gloomy Tuesday's weather.  The images inside were thought-provoking.  But at a loss, many of us stood outside smoking.  Holding onto a little glimpse of forever, seeing your body at rest to which you were no longer tethered.  You are remembered, and we thank you for the memories.  You shared all you were given, life's simple pleasantries.  Like I envisioned, I wished I would have spoken at your service.  Lingering on your siblings' words, maybe I got nervous.  Where most see a dead-end, eye like to see a new life with purpose.  So I take a deep breath from my chest and offer blessings to your fresh start.  Just know all of us are honored to be a part of your journey, which is eternally embedded in our hearts~

                                  Thank you Bobby,
                                         Talk to you later.
                                                         Much love

You’re sad. And sadness, well, it’s characterized by negative circumstances in your life. But have you ever thought about it? How the brain controls emotions? How the brain, literally, controls every reception in our body?

Loss of a family member, of a special someone, disappointment over your colleague–everything that happens in our world is pure information. And our brain decides how to react to it. I am sad, you are sad, he is sad. Everyone feels the same, though never exactly on the same degree. But the point is everyone endures feelings because our mind tells us to. And sometimes your brain will fail you and would you ever know why? Why the system of the neurons rewiring in your head suddenly choose to break you? As much as you want to be in control, it’s hard and it’s a process. But thinking about it, isn’t it magical? How the brain controls your decisions and suddenly your entire life?

But remember, you’re just science in this world. We all are. You’re a walking anatomy of cell tissues. A speck of humanity sitting in corners. Barely significant. You’ve read books about the philosophy of mankind, of intangible things, of excruciating norms. But the mind could only absorb what you feed. Now I’m asking, how do we take control? Our emotions? Our tendencies to reciprocate what’s unworthy? How do we justify the unthinkable? Art? How do we take control of our lives? Faith is a good concept but aren’t we just a product of science–-science of pumping blood and adrenaline glands? Science of DNAs and reproductive system? Bottom line is, mortality is cruel. And all our stories end in one–death, decomposition, and a life untold.

So try not to be sad. Try to take control of your feelings. Take over your ******* brain–your freaking hypothalamus. Because in years time, eventually we’ll crumble in the ground. And we won’t remember a thing, memories happy or sad.



―a.t.

By value of how facts change how I view how I know, they are a degree apart.
I believe at all is because of Jesus' Spirit communicated by the mass devotion of Christians (AllahuAbha).
I must act to friends as if in devotion.
No pain, no gain.
Solving real problems is the only way to learn math.
Accomplishment veils my mind from learning.
The quantity of information is endless.
Money is needed for almost everything.
Very hard issues are sometimes only resolved by quitting.
Fools are the greatest disease.
Emotional support is the strongest support.
Emotion and belief are tied together in the male world.
Emotion and kindness are tied together in the mixed world.
An able body gives many duties.
Rules are a wiseman's trajectory and the fool's posion.
A good roommate reminds me of my father.
School cannot give me a job unless I want it.
No betrayal is worse than a machine of lies.
Many creative minds are utterly wrong.
The people in utter power and control of the world have a wisdom which fools envy, rebels curse, and the wise fall in line.
The world's wisdom is cursed by the impoverished, and the impoverished have no worldly wisdom.
A heart well-broken can have lasting effects for a decade (or more?).
Once I realized no one helps the strong, I've found no one soft (except my parents).
All life and energy is information, and it all operates at the same level of intelligence.
Evolution is not a staircase but rather a bush or seaweed.
I never really regret saying anything, because I wouldn't have learned otherwise.
The yet-to-marry or the undivorced may always fancy a wedding.
Society's institutions play a large role in adult formation, and still play a role, however removed (or not), in midlife.
Children will always be the most valuable asset.
Youth will always be the life of the world's party.
Obey competent doctors.
Obey competent doctors.
Obey competent doctors.
Sometimes rewiring the brain through drugs is the only way to straighten the path.
Sometimes visions come, giving wonder, however brief.
The parties of the unsaved are always the best.
Don't be afraid to stick out like a sore thumb, otherwise you'll grow tired of hiding it amongst the fingers.
Parents have a profound psychological impact on children.
ET's are awesome.
Physics wasn't loved until it was hated.
Space travel will always make us dream.
Beauty speaks to all ages.
Nothing can stop the tirade of a rebel.
Be careful who babysits your kids.
Be careful who babysits your kids.
Be careful who babysits your kids.
Astrology can **** all natural wondering in life.
Astrology bestows direction for the future (now that you know it).
Nothing is worse than a person who blames everything on astrology except someone who blames everything on everyone else.

Another cigarette slowly withers to ashes grasped between the bruised knuckles of my index and ******* just as another burning yellow sun begins to cascade down into the deep blue and pink horizon on another day built solely to bring everyone closer to death.

I take a long drag off the cigarette before taking an equally long sip from a tumbler of whiskey. When I pick up the glass there's a ring of sweat left on the table that reminds me of an eclipse I once saw in my younger years. This was a pointless memory that was soon replaced by the burn from the bright amber spirit.

I savor the taste in my mouth, how it mixes with the blend 27 smoke. I swirl it around and feel the way that it lingers on the tip of my tongue and the way it coats my gums with its warmth. It does nothing to dull the pain that has been building inside but I continue to drink, pouring more in the tumbler until the bottle is empty; never feeling any effects.

I've become numb to the world.

I take another cigarette out of the golden brown and white box, bring it to my lips and light it with a rusted zippo that I found lying on the side of some no-name road a few years back when I was hauling illegal chemicals across state lines. I inhale, letting the acrid smoke fill my mouth before settling deep in my lungs, and exhale the excess. A thick veil of smoke clouds up in front of me and for a moment I cannot see the letter I've nailed into the wall and for that smallest of moments I forget about my troubles, my growing pain, and feel the overwhelming joy of contentment. It is fleeting. The smoke parts, fading into the corners of the room; leaving me staring once again at the note.

My eyes scan the letter and settle on the words "...one month to live." The postmark on the envelope read September 25th. It was now almost Halloween. My chest ached and I felt it cave in under the news that I had read over a dozen times already. Each time felt like a new time, that it couldn't actually be happening. But it was.

It is happening I remind myself.

The pain in my head shot to a burning brightness and I squinted my eyes as if to shield myself from some external force though I knew it to be a useless gesture. The tumor had appeared quickly and spread even faster.

About two months ago I was rewiring outlets for a building that the previous contractor had butchered. It was a simple job and I did it mindlessly, going about the work as usual until there was a searing pain shooting thru my head and I collapsed. When I awoke I was in a hospital with nurses and a doctor standing over me. They were blurry outlines of human forms and their voices were muffled. I slipped back into sleep.

When I woke up again there was only one doctor and he was staring down at a medical chart. My medical chart. He noticed my eyes open and asked questions. I did my best to answer. He told me about the tumor that had spread across my brain, that it was inoperable and the outlook was not good. He said this with all the years of professionalism a doctor can utter. A few hours later I was released.

I stared at the empty bottle of whiskey. I stared at the empty pack of cigarettes. I stared at the letter nailed on the wall. I stared at nothing.

When I stood up a wave of nausea coursed its way thru my body and I caught myself on the kitchen banister before collapsing. I slowly regained my balance and walked over to one of the kitchen drawers. I slid it out and rummaged thru it until I found the smith and Wesson .45 and took it out. I sorted thru another drawer until I found the bullets for it and took them out. I went back to the chair I was sitting in and loaded the gun methodically. I took the barrel of the gun and rested it on the right temple of my head.

I stared at the empty bottle of whiskey. I stared at the empty pack of cigarettes. I stared at the letter nailed on the wall. I stared at nothing.

And then I pulled the trigger.

Public opinion

Confusion reigns until his lordship explains
that our best interests are served by
remaining in service

no education for free for this
subject,
subject to decree from
her highness,
most royal majesty

Informally known as Lizzie.

His lordship is marking our card,
we must work very hard
get little pay
not too much noise
and
no *** on Sunday,

what a way to have to live
they take, take, take
and we try to live on
**** all
they live in a bigger hall
which still means **** all
to me.

I'm voting
one way or another
I'm voting

boring into the dead wood

Breadcrumbs.
I am Hansel and Gretel being
dead good.

Liz gets down to the business of queening,
cleaning the silverware'
getting rid of the peasants who get in her hair
tending to Phil
having her fill of kedgeree
and sod all for the likes of me,

She's off my Christmas list

if we were a republic

A peasant? revolting,
his lordship puts the boot in
but
the fault's in the system
we all need rewiring.

I'm going to Grimsby
that place will suit me
fish, chips and a
mug of tea
bye bye your majesty
don't wait up
I'll be home late.

is the trigger
a pill is the switch
you are the engineer
encapsulating power to control
which way it is flicked
rewiring nature
so chemicals
are now rendered necessary
to feel
and in their absence
you are only a spoke
without the wheel

Most of the machines don't know
they're broken.
They hum circadian.
I am in a patch-process.
I'm rewiring my hard drive
with the only chips I know.
I hope You like
my feeble,
yet desperate attempts,
to reconstruct my mainframe,
my big iron.
Pray for Me.

dreams are powerful antics
grip you from absolutely no where
then they are gone
baby
gone in a flash

let me sleep uninterrupted
the absence of dreams
is a dream itself

if the obscure is important
we’re ******
a total rewiring is required

capacities are misjudged
at only one step
the one in front of you


Friday, November 1, 2013

i. 403 Forbidden

lostin _thisdigital_scream.mp3
it’s over
shutdown.
restart.
pick up the pieces.
you know who this is
you know where this is
fresh eyes to see the world
strings of code
binary - 1 or 0
y/n
n.
back into the
cave we go

ii. 401 Unauthorised

you split yourself open.
rewiring
it is time to make a change
your code writ in red and
love and trauma
plug you in
(plug into me)
corrupted files
delete, delete
a cut job (ctrl x)
you do not have access.

iii. 404 Not Found

who are you
where are you
what colour is the sky
what colour is the sea
why can you feel the pull of the moon
does the earth call to you
why
why does she have rainbow eyes

ah.
there you are
(were)
empty automata
take to change.
flee from me.
find safety.
firewall.
sleep,
electric sheep dreams.

defragmentation
debugging
recalibration
everything not saved will be lost

iv. 410 Gone

you wake.
(FALSE)
the world is new
to you again
or you are
new to it.
i won’t find you in this place
because you’re gone
(again)
new version
ctrlaltdel.
empty.
a reconfiguration
ship of theseus
whole again
without them

coda. Metadata

you run out into the dark
the burdened and choked night sky
you see nothing
you see everything
this world is yours to reshape
and you to be reshaped with it
cause and effect
no more binary. no more
i am waiting for you.

Among the crowd,
a stranger lurks.
He looks like them,
acts like them,
although,
he doesn’t feel like them.

The eyes in the street are all the same –
“I want someone to know my pain”.
Swimming among the sea of faces,
a ghost moves amongst them.

Taunted by memories of the past,
the rewiring of brain chemistry into a mess.
Voices of torture,
of pain, of sorrow,
the picking of decaying flesh.
What’s left?

Another face in the crowd,
Just another guy with a story,
No more or less special than
the blade of grass that’s underneath him.
Just another name in the wind.

Refusing to accept defeat! Another challenging day , brings the strength for a upcoming battle! Waking up from a restless and tearful slumber. Slowly pulling myself out of the hole. My mind is cloudy, the fog remains but the secrets in hidden elements, become the tools for my advantage!

Recovering from effects of reoccurring events.

It will all settle....
Reminders to myself
just a bit more adjusting...
Just a bit more rewiring...

Slowly coming alive!!
Channeling energy from nature!
To bring back resting
ancient souls to life!
It's futile. To ignore this.
When order must be sustained.
What of you will remain?
When there is nothing left to gain?
When there is no other way to maintain....

Where was the help I needed before?
No, longer wanting to run anymore.
The monsters that await in the void
Are famished for my metaphysical.

I am tangled in the webs of a lucid dream that's within a repetitive nightmare. The visions where I've witnessed people and realities of alternate timelines, shift to change for the better and worse. Hand to the grit. This as good as it gets. My next move, better be the best hit! Swing don't miss, I can't afford another lost, there's much to lose within these risks! It's hard to rest, with so many questions kicking me when I am


Down...
Down....
Down....


Is this my worth?
Will the chance ever come for me
To have that most needed break?
How much more can a soul take?
"What am I doing here?"
Working until the end draws near.
This is for everything
Valued that is on the line!
in high hopes of getting back
What left our hearts
In midst of lost time!

So I ask AGAIN...
All of this matters or not?
Until the end of everyday
We slave and slay
For PEANUTS & PENNIES!!

Two wrongs don't make a right
For a betta' tomorrow

Just like three broke men
Don't make a dolla
Best believe it befo
You have to go
and ask somebody!
PEANUTS ane PENNIES
Can save the day!

We traveled many roads!
With Long journeys that
left deep scars and
Heart felt wounds
in search of Destiny.
My fears do not hender me.
You hold no power in
"White desperate lies"
I stand to testify
While I breathe
My choice for rest can come
when angels decide to close my eyes!!!
Let us be free at last!!
From the clutches of sorrow!!
To hold freedom that we
deserve for ourselves!
Freedom from the darkness!
Freedom from the pain!
That eats away internally
Until we become hollow!
Please answer me world!
Which God listens to prayers?!?!
Who is there to lead??
When there are no
leaders left to follow?!!!


Lost toward the tomb for goals!
Lawed to more subjected tolls
Impurity rests lonely
That's all I got for that soul
Copper less for a penny that's any
Stand for a reason
Stand for a flag
Penniless for the Polish season
Culture lost in between stimulants
Peanuts save the mind
What would you give enough for a nut?
How hard would you push a nut for a penny?

-DESCOVIA & C.J

Tired eyes and chapped lips
Alone time, used for more practice
The secret of life is one filled with good habits
Indulging myself, for eye am a hopeful music addict

Within a sea of symphonies, lies you and me
Connecting souls, rewiring circuitry
Floating together, still miles apart
Every single moment's a good chance to restart.
So act with your heart, cuz time's flying
Ya either get busy livin',
or get busy defying your true purpose
I'm here to help your inner self come to the surface~

I am gathering each grain
of sand to mix with the cement
For my broken spine

I am chipping rusted iron
And digging my outstretched
Fingers into the earth
For new ore
For my lifeblood

I am rewiring my heart
Waiting for each electron
To seep out of the new battery
Because there is resistance
In my familiar comfort in apathy

I need resurrection
I need to be human
Not a clone machine
Not a has been
Do I dare to hope again

Body shaking
Mind creeping
Eyes crossing
Fatigue settling
Awareness diminishing
Will to live fleeting.

She asks me, "What can I get you?"
I respond, "Biggest size you've got- extra everything."
She asks me, "Is that all for you miss?"
I say, "Make that two."

I hand over my life savings eagerly,
thinking I need my fix and I need it now.

My legs shuffle forward
Lacking energy to lift themselves off the ground.

My body is humming with excitement,
Eagerness cutting through my brain,
reminding me to keep my composure until the time is right.

And then I hear it
Three syllables ringing out above the chattering.
Two large items places on the table with my name branding it like a priced possession.

My heart rate peaks.
My eyes look like two saucers about to launch off my face.
A sheen of sweat covers my body.
Saliva fills my mouth,
making my need to indulge elevated above all reason.

My legs regain their composure in a burst of energy
I dart through the crowd,
pushing and growling and hissing at everyone that stands in my way.

Until my hands wrap around the cold circumference.

My frenzied hands stir and stir and then...
Bliss.

The taste of caramel and espresso and sweet life fill my mouth and suddenly I feel a jolt.

Energy traveling down my throat, through my veins.
Jump starting my heart and rewiring my brain.

My eyes open for the first time all day
My lips lift into a smile.

I turn around and see the terrified expressions of the entire store.

I look down and for the first time realize-
My shirt is on backwards
My hair is half curled
One sandal and one tennis shoe adorn my feet.

"Oh well," I think.
Everyone knows not to mess with me before I've had my Caramel Macchiato.

The year of HD colours
and endless mind-
rewiring sessions

I blink once, twice
hold my breath
zone out
slip to the nearest galaxy

I look
again
and still
you're

a Black & White complication
thousands miles away from
a grey and colour palette situation

I love you.
You make me become cotton, above
the wind, effortlessly gliding upon
rolling meadows of marigolds.

Wait

You're the cold snap before the morning
sun, always biting and freezing
loose particles of moisture in the air.

No, wait

You've brought my senses back, like rewiring
a lamp and giving it a fresh bulb, illuminating
the surrounding shadows with a smirk, smile.

Actually, wait.

You've made my mind out of confusion,
changing the pace, lying on high tide
forgetting the time we've spent out at sea.

Please wait,

I've just wanted to hang on, I miss feeling
like I'm whole again around the puzzle piece
that caught my attention. Love and wait

For me.