Melting under this Plastic World,
Mickey Mouse is a rat that ate the poison,
I feel this wave coming over me,
riding the tide like I'm Poseidon,

totally sick of this circus like Icarus,
flying dangerously close to The Sun,
I'm high in a high rise on syd in Sydney,
like Midas my God what have we done,

it's as if,
everything we touches turns to gold,
invested in,
IOTA last week this week it's up 10 fold,

BitCoin hit 15k,
here we go we're on our way,
bought in out of fear of getting left out,
like a cat in the rain,

feeling like a cannibal animal,
every dog has it's day,
working to the bone like a bog,
& we all want our $ at the end of the day,

when the work’s done,
everyone's gonna wanna get paid,
feeling mixed up in the middle,
half way between a master & a slave,

what a mess we’ve made,
& I’m not blaming any particular one,
I’m just saying collectively,
this feels like the eulogy of,

a civilization that's time has come,
& is almost done,
& yeah we might lose it all,
but at least we had some fun,

& oh what fun we’ve had,
but who'll be left to clean up this mess,
because all the cool kids have gone,
& you're the only one left,

like the morning after the party,
sunrises are never the same as sunsets,
had some fun times last night,
but this morning you're such a wreck,

sometimes only at crunch time do you find,
our failures disguised as accomplishments,

now who’s left behind to pay enough mind,
to clean up our post bliss mess,
not snotty nosed spoiled rotten rich kids,
who got gassed up on daddy’s cash,
they're crashed out at their pad now,
but we both knew they wouldn't last,

passed out on dad's couch,
can always tell the future from the past,

everyone’s,
acting like an ***,
jockeying in position,
for some corporate kick backs,

but if or when you get them,
they come along with a guilty conscience,
then tell me what good is that,
seems all these facts are just nonsense,

I mean really what good is this,
what good are all these words,
I guess these words are only worth,
whatever a words worth is really worth,

which at this point,
feels worth about as much as dirt,
but at least it's that good dirt,
that Mount Agung before it bursts,
that fertile volcanic soil,
that Mother Love from Mother Earth,

sure,

you might think you’ve got it figured out,
or at least you thought you did,
& now you see what’s coming now,
& the mess we’ve made of all this ****t,

the drama we did with no apologies,
no apologies nor compliments,
no honor for the Honor Rollers,
nor for our awkward accomplishments,

and all I want to know,
is where the Hell honest went,
'cause all these dollars & all this power,
at the end of the day amounts to zip,

zero,
no heroes,
& as it turns out,
all of our idols are weirdos,

how's we go,
from Einsteins to Weinsteins,
from talking out our feelings,
to just replying with “I'm fine.”,

from Greek Gods to Mickey Mouse,
from Orwell's Animal Farm to Animal House,
from Mozart's 'Requiem Lacrimosa',
to Baha Men's 'Who Let The Dogs Out',

how'd we get from then,
to where we are now,

& you only want to talk about the weather,
or anything else that doesn't matter,
instead of what's really on your mind,
& how it's all almost over,

talking about what's for lunch,
while the world floods & burns,
not trying to be too negative,
just trying to help you learn,

because I know you think I'm cool,
but really I feel hot as Hell,
is it just me or is it hot in here,
is it just me or does nothing feel real,

like a Barbie girl in a Barbie world,
all dolled up & wrapped in plastic,
like I'm at at Disneyland on acid,
only about an hour & a half in,
& already I'm having a bad trip,
stuck on a boat on a fake mountain,
it's a joke that they call it magic,
trying to slow as everything goes faster,

but I'm not at Disneyland,
I'm just in a high-rise on syd in Sydney,
looking at the man in the mirror like MJ,
thinking I don't know that man who is he?

MMelting under this Plastic World,
Mickey Mouse is a rat that ate the poison,
I feel this wave coming over me,
riding the tide like I'm Poseidon,
totally sick of this circus like Icarus,
flying dangerously close to The Sun,
I'm high in a high rise on syd in Sydney,
like Midas my God what have we done.

∆ LaLux ∆

from The Sydney Sessions
available for FREE worldwide 12/12/17

***
I never thought of  
of status quo

I just went
crashing
against the walls

logical had
nothing to do with me
it was for real

abstinence
of every rule
out of eyesight

I caught afire
drew the fire on
drew me amidst

a flame
and went
completely

******* mad
like Syd did
sang on

shined as
long as I could

i want to curl up with you;
rainy Sunday afternoon
watching old Hepburn films
and you stroke my hair
and i stare at you.

i want to read to you;
candle-lit room
scented with mangos -
and you rest your legs on mine
and i smile at you.

i want to get high with you;
flowers in bloom
you smell ashy
and we listen to Syd Barrett
and I cry with you.

i want to ride with you
sunlit bedroom -
sweaty expressions
and palma violets gush from my depths
and i die with you.

There is a note that lives between thought and slumber,
That’s when I thought of you today
A harmonica lay in my hand, the reeds looking at me silly,
Play, I imagined it say, and imagined it was really there.

In my mind we are still walking a dusty bluesy road, our jeans torn and worn
In this midday dream the blues is red and wore a hat; I let out:
This, is not the blues from which my hippie son was born.
I sigh, at the sight of a synthesizer kissing a harmonica, the synth in your head, the harmonica pregnant with my heart.
Our blues drove us to momentary madness, because Syd Barrett was always jealous
Like fights that happened on Sundays and when we choose to mock, then cruelness.
Come midnight someone awakes and someone is being wakened,
And outside, nothing is lit, But she's not afraid, just letting you know she was waking.

Your bedside was colored, certainly psychedelic, but was almost always red
I lay there, like a pregnant harmonica making love to a trusty guitar, the guitar thrusting, the harmonica trusting.

I confront salvation with a straight face, a cigarette now intruding
No, I yell, the harmonica sounds the same, still on the key of C,
But by a synthesizer you sat, the harmonica lay there, heavy with child, looking at me,
And as I stare back, I've seen: indeed you have chosen the synth.

A note creeps in between the high and dry of low, I insist that kismet needs a little shove
Just a push, a new pair of eyes, another heart and a memory that knows only love,
Spiralling in Syd's Milky Way, me drowning, me begging in exchange for you,
I tried moaning a tune but the blues have discolored and turned simply blue.

I face the devil now, I try to bargain, but he sings, 'the blues trusts no one, no longer.'
The devil makes a face, sings to me then says, 'you've forgotten that I'll always remember.”

"This town is dead," he said. We sat on the old stone bridge, with our feet dangling over the steady creek. "Where's Kacey?" I asked, hitting my cigarette, then passing it to see if he wanted some. He took a puff and looked off into the distance. "Probably still back at the house. Ya know, it sure is some *******, man. We fight, and she takes his ******* side." He hands me the cigarette. I gesture to him to keep it. "Thanks," he sighs in a slight relief. He seems stressed enough. I can always buy a new pack.
I take out my current one and pop a new cancer stick in my mouth. I shuffle around in my pocket to find a lighter, and spark it up. The nicotine on a cold, grey winter day like this has the perfect bite. I inhale, lick my chapped lips, and exhale. "Dude, it's just because he is younger. Remember how annoying we were when we were seventeen?" I pull his beanie over his face, hoping to at least get a smile. He lets a slight grin escape his aggravated demeanor, and slaps my hand away. "Yeah, you're still that **** annoying." We laugh for a brief moment, then the calm settles in again.
I look to my left: brown grass, dead trees, and playground that has been neglected for months. Then, to my right: Eric, flicking the cigarette, the old auto parts plant, more dead grass, and the road. Everything has a grey and pale blue tint. This is what winter brings. Eric scoots back and stands up. He brushes gravel off his pants, "I gotta head out. Ally has to go to work, she needs me to drive her. You want to come?" "Sure, I don't have **** to do anyways."
We hop in the car and drive off. I lean out and look at the stores in the town square as we cruise through: Barber, antiques, diner after diner. He's right: this place is dead. "Hey," Eric slaps my chest. Impact is reduced thanks to my puffy jacket, "Do you think Ally is just slutty enough to settle for a guy like me?" He smiles and looks in the mirror. Peeling off his beanie, he exposes his blonde, messy hair. To be honest, he wasn't that bad looking when he tried. Maybe if he would just shave that creepy soul patch. "You know her better than I do, man," I say, "I mean, she asked you for a ride to work. I wouldn't look too far into it."
The thing is, I don't want him to get his hopes up. This past summer, she and I slept together a few times. Instead of cuddling afterwards, she'd roll over, do a line of coke, then say she has to go somewhere. Easy to say, we were just **** buddies. The part that is ******* though: anyone I know who has messed around with Ally, gets trapped in this abyss of feelings. She makes you fall in love with her. But it's so hard to love her, too, because she's so strung out and scattered. These days you can't even tell if she's high or not. It has just become her.
We finally get to her apartment and wait outside. I see her starting to come down from the third floor. Black and white Converse High-Tops with black stockings. They have a few runs and holes in them from our wild nights. She wore them the night we first had ***. Then a pair of frayed, high waisted, black shorts. She always knew exactly what to wear to show off her thin body. And finally, a simple black tank top. Her hair was in a messy, blue bun. Tattoos disbanded all over her body. Small simple ones, because she could never save up enough money to buy an actual normal one.
"Hey, *******!" She says as she crawls into the backseat, pushing empty cigarette packs and fast food bags to the other side. "What's up Ally?" Eric says, looking her up and down with a giant grin on his face. "Oh, ya know," she sighs as she digs through her purse. "Do you mind running by the gas station before you take me to Moonie's? I need some aspirin and a pack of Marlboros." "Moonie's? I thought I was taking you to work, not the bar! God ******, Ally, if you want to drink I'll just buy us a bottle. It's much cheaper, and you can get as ****** as you want." Eric had no subtlety to the fact he wanted to get her wasted. "No, **** face. I work there."
Eric and I just look at one another.
"When the hell were you going to tell me you work there?" He says, overjoyed. "I didn't want you dragging a sweetheart like Syd down there to be a little pervert," she says jokingly. It's not like I haven't seen it all anyways. "Besides, I'm not on the stage....yet. I'm just bartending"
  We made it to the gas station. Ally starts scrambling through her purse, pulling together wadded up bills. The sound of medicine bottles fills the car. Midol, migraine medication, and various other pills (and, honestly, I wouldnt be surprised if they weren't originally hers) "Okay," she said with a deep breath of relief,"I'll be right back." She hops out of the car and dances a small, hungover sway, one foot over the other. Eric and I watch as she heads in. I observe her tendencies, motions, and body language. Such a broken soul intrigues me. How is she okay with this? I feel protective of her, but desire a release. How does one care for such a soulless being? She finds her peace in stranger's arms. I was a stranger when we got together. Once we got close, she started at it again with the mystery men. Eric, he doesnt watch her, really. He stares. The guy might as well be drooling, standing on all fours like a dog. He doesnt observe her, notice the little things. He lusts for her body, much like all the others. She has that air about her. She could make the Pope sin, for God's sake. It's almost pure evil in that skin, but I know there is something fighting. She couldn't have always been like this.
I must have spaced out, we're already pulling away from the parking lot. "Here," she says in a spunky and proud tone, as she tosses a pack of Newports up to Eric. "God bless!!" He shouts, closing his eyes in rejoice, "I've been out all day, bumming off of Syd, here, the past couple hours." He reaches over and pats me on the cheek. I shoo him away and turn up the radio. Arctic Monkeys, a black and white dream flows into my head. Saving her, but nothing could. I could grab her head and push it up against the wall, hold the needles, pipes, and pills infront of her, beg her to stop, and all I'd get is a smirk. I know it. No ***** given.
We arrive at Moonie's. Blacked out windows, purple and red paint, black velvet door. It's the only ******* for miles around and tends to stay busy. Who would think I's spend my days here as a young adult, when I went to church right up the road when I was kid.
We walk in and sit at the bar. The only place i can drink at besides friend's houses. Moonie's son runs the joint now. His dad opened the place forever ago, long before any of us were even considered, or unwanted for a select few. Moonie, apparently, was like a small town Hugh Hefner, had his pick of the ladies. Messed around with his top dancer and had this *******, Todd. "How's it hangin'?" Todd asks Eric and I as I reach for the ashtray. It's ******* weird, no doubt. Todd looks like a middle school teacher who would spend his time writing in a coffee shop, not running a ******* or holding an impressive amount of assault charges. Curly brown hair, like Corey Matthews from Boy Meets World, skinny and tall. Button down flannel, fitted blue jeans, and the beard to top it off. Looks like a young dad, acts like it too. He looks after the "troubled youth" in this place. He provides love, ***, and drugs for those without. I've crashed a few times on his couch. He's charming, which would make sense to him being Ally's current weakness. I catch the glances they share as Todd awaits for either Eric or I to finish a drag on our cigarettes to answer. Now I understand how she got the job.
"Uh," I say, exhaling smoke, "It's good man. Eric here shut down into "Little *****" mode with his mom again." Todd and I laugh as Eric slumps down. His eyes fidget for a moment, as he searches for a comeback. "Dude," he says, as he places his hand down calmly on the bar. He closes his eyes, and slowly whispers,"I swear to God, **** her." Eric sounds breathy and comedic, yet you can hear the truth in it. He and his mother never got along. He always idolized his dad, who left a long time ago. He says a lot that he wishes his dad took him along, and got him out of this town. He really hates it here. "I've seen your mom," Todd smiles and shakes his head as he breaks out three shot glasses, "and I would most definitely **** her. You can call me 'Daddy *******'." "Absolutely not, you **** head," Eric says, choked from trying not to laugh, "Touch my mother, and you die. Last thing I want is another little ******* sibling, let alone, one related to you." he says, now laughing at his own joke. I must have no sense of humor, because none of this is funny. My parents raised me to respect women. I've seen Eric and Todd, both lay hands on Ally. She would get too drunk and start yelling and *******. Granted, she antagonized them, but they know her. She's too ******* little to REALLY fight. Luckily, it's never gotten past a few slaps and slams.

my feet had barely greeted california
when my face matched the new summer,
cheeks blooming uneven,
eyes green as moss
and every face i glared upon
avoided looking too long.

walking through my least favorite airport
chin high, silent and ugly and wet,
i grieved for myself, i pitied my future, and mourned my past.
something lodged in my throat screamed with more assurance
and clarity and confidence than i have ever known
"this is not where i belong!"

i cried for my feet no longer squishing silica on white beaches
old skin disappearing in tiny fish
or kissing rainforest mulch, under-dressed in flipflops
taunting flora and fauna and fate

i cried for my skin, abused and bronzed
exfoliated in world heritage parks, the first shower in days
and oiled from water crossings in a run-down four wheel drive
a beard of blemishes i didn't bother to hide.

i cried for my ears, robbed of every accent,
of the crashing waves and roar of waterfalls,
or the same six songs played in every club in cairns
and the pterodactyl screech of flying foxes.

i cried for my hair, for my hands, for my nose.
i cried for my mouth and my tongue and my legs.

mostly, i cried for the death of laughter that started in the
pit of my stomach and rose up like carbonation
to my chest and my lungs and my neck and burst
like floodwaters in dorrigo
the elation and exhilaration and euphoria of being alive
that spilled out of me in screams and shrieks
and bubbled and flushed and insisted
so fiercely so strongly so urgently
that to relent was not even a choice but a right

and then half a year later
i sat dully in a fluorescent corridor at my transfer terminal
feeling my heart retreat, defeated
dreading the long months ahead
promising nothing but drudgery and boredom
letting the tears drip onto my boarding pass
black ink lamenting, too
and not a single person approached
or spoke to me
until i asked to wash away the moment
with a diminutive bottle of ***
a mile from the surface.

Syd.

At the lips.
Take a down to Kings Road.
At the left.
Take a left at Kings Road then take another left.
At the sign take a right down to Kings Road.
Just to end up where you started.
At the lips.



Garrett t Johnson.

I see her in the ocean breeze,
In dark and churning stormy seas,  
honey eyes taste salty air,
She’s curls forming in untamed hair.
I see her in the deepest night,
A starry sky of freckled light,
An asteroid, her fall to earth,
Caused ripples through the universe.

I write this poem,for my four legged friend
so loving ,so delicate,my praise never ends
Is he a cat ? , a mouse ?  or a dog ? none of the former
lets call him a cog.
,follows me round, close to my leg this is true
think the little ****** has stuck  with glue
but when he is naughty,he stalks slow like a cat,
curls up in a ball and could fit in a hat,
He dont bark ,he just yaps ,god how he yaps,
but with all of his flaws,please get down ***** paws
he"s so pleased to see me ,maybe wishes he could be me
will be here the end,cause a dogs man"s  best friend

When I was 16 and done

Cleaning out his horse stalls

Mr. Sodie Hampton said,

"Son, don't never work for less than

$1.50 an hour the rest of your life."

Momma who grew up choppin and pickin

Cotton said it a different way,

"A hard day's work deserves a

A good day's pay."

Momma also said,"You ain't any better

Than anyone else, but nobody's

Better than you either."

My Tennessee Momma also said,

"Son, your word is your bond and

A man looks after those weaker than him."

I learned as a man that children come first.

Syd and Sam taught me love

I'd never known.

We are all children of the same God

Breathed to life with the spark of

The Divine.

That's all why it ain't workin today.

We forgot all that.

We ain't all individual robots

With the strongest devouring the weakest.

And too many never worked for

Mr. Sodie Hampton and learned there's a

Floor beneath which we will not work

Indignities we will not bear

And disrespect we won't accept.

And our children deserve joy and freedom

And even skittles on a summer night

No matter their color or their clothes.

Too many of us got it ***-backwards

We make up all kind of reasons to

Hate and fight and **** and some

Even try to justify reape and ******

When Momma and Mr. Sodie Hampton said

It so different so long ago

In Tennessee and Missouri.

Our lot was not to stay all night;
In kneeling praise by bathroom stalls.
Alcohol numbed your honesty's bite,
wrote her destiny on the divider walls.

And we weren't the kind to cheat, don't believe,
All the loose lips half-cross town,
Last call patrons who watch me leave,
And shut this ****** down...

Like Zane and Beckett, so convinced,
Their **** would last forever,
Bad enough to make you wince,
If they spend one more second together.

Or Jane and Kinney, young, driven, and full,
Of lust or something similar.
Don't be surprised, you've seen this fire,
The end? ...all too familiar.

And pretty Syd had all the gall,
and Pony Boy thought he knew the score...
but he's just a **** like so much Pyrex,
Stuffed inside his paper *****.

But Ashtray Woman with ***** Mouth,
And monster's blood on toilet tissue,
Is just another frightened girl,
With real and dangerous daddy issues.

Now, here, at the close (I'm still glad to say),
You deserve almost everything, that you've won,
Our karma arose ( and, in time, took the day ).
Now I ponder regrets in the hours before dawn,
It wasn't the when, or with whom we may lay,
or the time in the morning before I should be gone,
It's more about how we desired to stay...
When we gazed into stars lying flat on your lawn.
I once craved your poison but, now, in my way,
I'm actually glad
to see you gone.

( Feat Syd Rivers)
    (Feat Gwen Johnson)

Blast of bright flames
glowing in the horizon,
igniting the trees

A prayer to God
releasing celestial drops,
water saves the land.

Blowing is the wind
carrying seeds of new life
gently caressing

Today’s barren tree
tomorrow’s fruitful harvest
live expectantly.

I'm so sad I'm sadder than this
My underwear smells like the pizza I ate
I don't expect you to give me a kiss
I open my window and pretend to feel great.

I'm so bad I'm sadder than this
Drained down in gluttony I'm a stuck pig
Oh well, I'm dreaming, isn't that what they say?
Guess I'll just get up and have another day.

I'm so rad but I'm sadder than this
Still not waiting for your soft kiss
I've been looking for a new accomplice
Pass me
A season
If you wanna
Exist.

How happy they are when they start.
And how sick of them I am when they go.
I'm playing with your everything
But I
Can't find your heart.
Sometimes I know that it shows.

I'm just a lad but I'm sadder than this
Sometimes I know, you just
Waited too long
To listen
To that Syd Barrett album
All by yourself

But in the sad town...
My underwear smells like the pizza I ate;
The kiss I can't have is so soft...
That's alright; I'll kiss the sky;
That's okay; I'll take it off...

Dreamers dreaming the impossible
possible

dreamers asleep awake
alive and free

dreamers who answer calls
dreamers who know it all
dreamers with the music you need
dreamers who give you love in need

no matter what


if anything
this is the biggest lesson i've ever learnt riding on this ship

that sometimes you can choose your family
and they are your friends
and that. IS respect.

we walk on sacred ground
inside and out

so mad respect to you
and you
and all of you who pervade the all seeing ocean of cosmicness nice doin buisness

don't mess , tease and test hotline to humor is the peruser of this horizon

and i see we've reached land

we're all dreamers - ghosts driving machines

how many ghosts are drifting into machines these days

i wonder where our perspective can change , when we DARE to dream

;)

any dream
any time

day dream s
reality's gleam , bright awake alive like a sunrise with wine and cigarettes

surveying the coastal horizon  

these people are all calling

screams and screams maybe your not tuned vibrational yet to the symphonies of earths war cry

the sleeping dragon has awoken

you dared to touch her jewels , her gems

you fools.

mine anything- but do not touch her babies

and no
i'm not talking about diamonds - they are not that rare- it's where you value more than money when it shows who cares

there are whole PLANETS made up of diamonds

we talking about home - ourselves

how rare is life ?

well for all we know

we could be the only ones

and we spend time killing each other?

I am the executioner
i have come to give you your wake up call

we are here to do a job

what?  i know what i'm good at ..... (1)


fighting the enemies of truth

i stand for justice

served fairly


Karma is time

i'm talking past lives now

anyway

the point is

we've all got a reason
to be here

go find it

( it- may just be a person too )

or several people ?

or everyone ?

or for no one
ghosts in machines

whatever .

i just wanna say peace
this is my peace which i wrote primarily for me
and we wrote it together
all of us


we need peace
and we need quiet

the old kingdom is crumbling

we are
new

we are the ones who choose

we become our own judges
and executioners

we become our own best friends in the darkest of times
and someone once said

the sun always rises

and what a beautiful that maybe sunrise was

just like black magic

call me the magician

my name is SYD.

and i live in all of you .

geselsies oor stomende boere troos
kombuis warm gekuier
stemme weerkaats sagkens van mure
my verlore jong meisie dae
as ek maar kon weet
woorde aan die wind
wys en syd versprei
soos die skerwe van my hart
onherroepbaar weg , stof bedek
die inuitputbare gemis
geen ander skaduwee kan begryp
tyd heel niks
jy leer leef in leemte en skerwes
huis met krake en gebreuke
tot als in tuimel
soet versoening
tot dan
siels kreute, hallelujah

like Syd and Nancy
like Paul and Linda
like Kurt and Courtney
like John and Yoko
like Elvis and Priscilla
I want us to be reckless
I want us to be free
I want us to not to be afraid of what's coming
I want us to be just us
but I know it's not going to happen

Why should they care?
why should they say?
denial
go on
I know what you're thinking
and it's okay
irrational
nonsense
everything
you're just being **bent

It was awfully considerate
of him to be here,
and beneath dreaming spires
he knew he had nothing to fear

Eating apples and oranges,
druids and dwarves
riding bicycles everywhere,
milling about on the wharves

The elephant’s fizzing
away in the park,
leaving Arnold to play
all alone with himself in the dark

Oh Emily, Emily,
where is she now?
Riding Julia’s nightmare,
or milking the pantomime cow?

The scarecrow stands waving
goodbye to all that,
and in seven slow stages
old Lucifer puts out the cat

Aunt ****** empties
the ashtray away,
and says how she’ll miss all
his idiosyncratic ways

The Winnower sorts all
the wheat from the chaff,
and with a spin of the grindstone,
the Madcap will have the last laugh

did not pick anything
the moment i walked out of this Japanese bookstore, by known means
picked up a monologue

a Chinese looking young man entertaining himself looking at the security guard,
'I could not read any Chinese ... '
gesturing in the air shaking his black backpack, off i went
wondering he might shrug

a sad thing, like an apple
napping with its pear buddies knowing nothing about its past life, the age
before genetical modifications

well presented at markets, feeling
fresh and cool like us on summer beaches until being picked by consumers

a price to pay before they leave, a fair one
unlike those tomatoes fluctuate their lives
simply because of good looking red faces
rarely grow up naturally

Mar 10, 2016 SYD