Don't "talk *****" to me.

I don't want that,
Not nonchalant naughty nouns,
Or violent verbs,
Or anxious adjectives.

I want to be drippingly adorned and intrigued,
By adjectives that ache and torment,
By verbs that are vibrantly vital and tantalize.

I want to be left longfully lusting after lambent language.

The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected,

and as she tries to explain herself,
with tears streaming down her cheeks and loving anger in her eyes,
I begin to think what every abused person forever thinks,
maybe I deserved it…

She’s small,
petite,
physically unthreatening,
but emotionally a serious liability,
like a stealth bomber,
aeronautically beautiful,
but destructively deadly,
a suicidal **** savage,
a carcinogenic princess,

she is,
small,
petite,
as cute as she is hard headed,
stubborn trouble that’s hard to argue with,

so I don’t argue,
instead of engage I ignore,
silence can be more of an insult,
than even the worst words ever are,
when words are replaced,
with the silence of space,
all kinds of assumptions and truths can occur,

so I don’t argue,
I don’t debate or retaliate,
I just politely remove myself,
from this situation when it escalates.

See,
I’ve been in abusive relationships in the past,
and the bones of the skeletons in my closet,
barely rest buried just below the surface,

and that slap,

that fckn slap,
almost awoke the demons,
so loud it almost disturbed the devil,
it almost brought about a most unholy resurrection,

that slap,

was like a shovel digging into the dirt in a graveyard,
almost uncovering the sinful skeleton bones buried just below the surface…

But I refuse,
to let this hysterically temperamental gorgeous Gravedigger,
unearth a past that's sentimentally painful and totally traumatic,
and even though I’m unnerved by the slap because that slap hurt,
I refuse to give in to her drama and become all melodramatically dramatic.

See,

she’s sweet as Halloween treats,
at the same time still bitingly bitter and distasteful,
so instead of engaging in here arguments,
I remove myself and my emotions from her Self that’s so ungrateful,
she calls me a player and a **** but I find that her labels are mislabeled,
so no I don’t give in to her taunts I refuse to engage in something so shameful,

instead of engaging,
I leave her alone with her tears,
I exit out the balcony,
and make my way down the stairs,
I take myself to the ocean,
walking barefooted along the path,
I am not responsible for her heart,
so I refuse to endure her wrath,

see,

domestic abuse hurst both,
the abuser and the abused,
especially when the two are in love,
and they are all out of options to choose,

there’s a very thin line between love and hate,
and those dividing lines can sometimes fade,
mistakes can be made good intentions misplaced,
a kiss on the check and a held hand can turn into a slap in the face!

The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected,

feeling rejected,
and disconnected,
feeling both affected,
and disaffected,

I exit,

I exit the bungalow,
and ascend down the winding staircase,
I get outside and get away from there,
staring out into star lit space,

I breathe,
and think,
fresh air is so underrated,
I see my favorite star,
thanking me because I made it,
twinkling vibrantly she has me sedated,
not the girl,
but the star,
she is such a seductress,
shining in such radiant hues of electric light,
she twinkles vibrantly and violently,
she does not go gently into that good night,
she is the good in a good night,
twinkling vibrantly as other stars shoot across the Night's sky,

she rages against the dying light,
and I give thanks that I am still alive.

I walk,

barefoot and bare chested,
down to the beach,
where the dry desert sands of southern Baja,
meet the wet ocean waters of the Pacific,

bottle of wine in one hand,
book and pen in the other,

I marvel at the stars,
and remember that I am never really alone,
for as long as I can see the sky,
I’ll always see the way to get back home.

The constellations are stellar interpretations,
maps to guide us home to our final destination.


I arrive,
at the beach,
several shooting stars later,
and wash away the ache on my face and in my heart,
with waves on my feet and wine in my throat,
I record some more emotions on this paper,
because poetry is my form of emotional art,

and by the light of the full moon,
I write for as long as I can write,
my pains won’t be in vain,
and everything will be worth it even what happened tonight,

I will take all of our collective abuses,
and place them on these papers,
transforming them from form to thought,
then from thought to words on these papers,

I will take all of our collective abuses,
process and translate them into messages to be read,
I will take all of our collective abuses,
and process them through the headaches in my head,
so hopefully these messages,
will help others who have been or are being abused stand strong,
and hopefully these messages,
will help others who abuse or have abused realize that they are wrong,
because at the end of the day what we can say to relate,
is it’s all about love and hate it’s not all about right and wrong.

And just as I lose hope,
and ethereal angel appears,
wearing a white linen robe,
looking like a ghost holding laughter and tears,

she sits next to me,
here on the sands,
and takes the warm bottle of wine,
from my cold still writing hands,

she observes as I finish,
writing these last few lines,
she watches me with interest,
as if she can read my mind,

and she smiles even though it’s a painful world,
because she knows we’re both survivors so we will survive,
and she knows we’re both riders so we’re always ready to ride,
and we both shine way too bright to ever be able to hide,

and then we make love,
our passions rising along with the tide,
and maybe that’s why the girl back at the bungalow slapped me,
because she was mixed up with hurt feelings and hurt pride,
she was frustrated that she loved me but that here love was not enough,
but what am I to do I can not control how my heart feels or even control myself.

I hurt her,
so she slapped me,
and I guess that’s fair,
though maybe not exactly,
either way I care too much to care,
and either way that **** slap kinda stings,

even when I know it’s deserved…

The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected…

– ∆  Aaron La Lux ∆ –

'The City of Fallen Angels'; available worldwide 7/7/16

∆

Seamstress sew me a line of word
Make it colourful,
Make it stand out,
She did it, the words weaved in and out
One over the other,
They flowed vibrantly,
She was a master at sewing word
Her pins were
Pencil
&
Pen
Woven with each, shades came out
Each told a story, a life of its own
Happiness
Darkness
Terror
&
Joy
What was asked, she would sew
Every stich was new in her mind
To sew a word profound,
All took time
Once stitched there was no going back,
It was complete
Colourful,
Dark,
The words woven  in style
Like it or not,
Her woven words stitched to the page
This seamstress of ink and lead,
Now waiting to once again sew words
Upon a blank page...

Right before the thunderstorm
Clouds of grey line the sky
The breezes stir even a little
And rustle through the tall, tall pines
Leaves are scattered on the ground
The scent of rain fills the air
The stifling hot summer day
All of a sudden cools off
The wind picks up
And the sky is black with rage
Green leaves and twigs and small branches
Are flying through the air
Lightening flashes vibrantly
And thunder follows right behind with a crash
That ear splitting "boom" makes me jump and cringe
Rain suddenly pours from the heavens
And it roars upon the roof
Raindrops wash the porch
Of any dust or summer dirt
The ground tries its best to drink the rain
Yet still leaves puddles all around
The sun shines and then fades again
And the sky turns blackish-bluer still
Until that familiar sound of thunder
Startles me and makes me frightened
Thunderstorms are dark, yet lovely
And scary, yet beautiful
I guess I like thunderstorms
But just am afraid of them

*~Marian~

Looking at this Rose,
“ya, it’s beautiful right?”
How can something so marvelous
grow in a world so frivolous?
Vibrantly blossoms just to wait out it’s days
Waiting To live out a purpose
other than to wither away
So many potential uses such as dates, marriages, deaths, and holidays
Except for this one Rose
Which got plucked
for no other relevancy
but to just wither away.

Sleep in Peace Jahseh
You left this world way too early but you have left much purpose for us other roses through your music and the way you were changing from your past mistakes. Thank you X

I’ve been watching the seasons change
from this lonely little bus stop shelter.
Waiting in limbo,
as the leaves turn from an animated green,
to the frost bitten crunch
of once was.
The landscapes danced dynamically before.
Trees swayed blissfully
over the vibrantly brushstroked canvas;
yet now they stand still.
Motionless.
Paralysed, like a Polaroid picture.
But in this time of waiting;
my momentary detention of movement;
a suspension of my heart’s desires.
I’ve observed as the scenery
turns to the deceased.
The dead.
The diminished.
And returns back
to the living
as it always does
and always will
eventually.

The Mendacity of Beauty,  Marvels of the Mundane


<1/1/2023 10:38 PM>

commissioned by Pradip^
          <>


A special carnet permits the day,
though day itself unremarkable,
permissioning of a thousand,
even, tens of ten thousand
grasping new love poems

all mundane, all marvelous

an aborning of odes re the
vastness of sea, sandy sky,
multifarious penumbras of hewn hues,
vibrantly diverse, still, requiring the
expanse and pretense of “new”
adjectives and metaphoric
in combos recalculating

precisely, it’s the enormity,

of the difficulty of verbal capture
upon tablet of these natural treasures,
once, more, yet again, but in somehow in a new-never
quite-before conceptional~postulation-realization

I sojourn amidst both man made and natural beauty,
provoking, invoking, a steady stream of potable knowledgeables, performing as a hand-written-thank-you-note for the grace, the imagination of their mishmash existences addressed only to

“whom it may truly concern…”

I’m eager to confess that the poetry inherent in the
mundane, requiring not-so-easy mining, a sales taxing
innovation to capture the subtlety of less visible flecks of gold, that present a rarer challenge to the poet’s senses where glory abides in pyrite pebbles strewn and trod upon by most indifferently,

ah, write of the marvel of the mundane,
**** dare you!

<>

^Pradip: “writing of the mundane is mandatory for me…”
Aug 12 2022

“What’s the meaning of life?” Is a question we ask,
But finding the answer is no simple task.
Everyone’s here for a reason on our great Mother Earth,
Until the day they die and from the moment of birth.

This is the story of a journey I took,
That forever changed for me how the universe looked.
My entire concept of this physical world,
Was shattered while I saw infinity unfurled.

It all starts with the chemical known as DMT,
I had heard rumors that it could set your soul free.
Needless to say it had my intrigue,
I’d tried LSD and Psilocybin, but this was in a different league.

I did some research and learned that you can smoke it,
That apparently was the easiest way to invoke it.
By chance DMT had found me a few weeks later,
And left a huge dent in my soul like a crater.

I had a glass pipe and the DMT at hand,
It was a fine beige powder that resembled coarse sand.
I packed the pipe full and took a big hit,
Held it in tight and leaned back to sit.

The first thing I noticed was the room got real blurry,
And everything started to fade black in a hurry.
Anxiety kicked in, and my nerves were full blast,
I had no idea how long this feeling would last.

I closed my eyes, and stared into a dazzling black,
And I had the sensation of someone standing behind my back.
I suddenly felt a calm like I’d never thought life could bring,
And whispered from behind were three words: “This, is everything…”

At the exact second the words had finished being spoken,
The universe crumbled and reality was broken.
My soul left my body and was catapulted above,
To a place that transcends time, and inundated with love.

I soared through a tornado made of vibrantly stained glass,
The pure energy was overwhelming and moved through me quite fast.
I traveled into infinity through all its patterned veils,
A kaleidoscopic carnival full of intergalactic trails.

Glorious music engulfed me dressed as ornately woven ribbons,
It’s the most profound experience that I had ever been given.

Helping guide my journey were omniscient entities of light,
Who led me through this astounding matrix of delight!
Their intense embrace of loving energy I can’t begin to explain,
It’s a place that entirely dissolved away all sadness or pain.

There’s no linearity of time, nor concept of “self,”
Earth was temporarily placed on hold up high on a shelf.
I inhabited the deepest recesses of my brain,
I experienced my sub consciousness on a multi-dimensional plane.

I surpassed a wall of brilliantly interwoven neon tape,
And entered a cathedral expanse divinely infinite in scape.
The Godhead of eternity was the place that I was in,
A realm of unimaginable light and power where our souls begin.

To me, this was absolute proof there’s a world beyond ours,
Way outside our galaxy, and light-years beyond the stars.

After my journey, my life was a new leaf that had turned,
I spent weeks thinking about all the things I had learned.
My new knowledge of existence was the only thing that mattered,
When the world was reassembled after my ego was shattered.

Now I no longer fear death, even if I try,
For I know deep in my heart that our spirits never die.
Yes, we’ll shed this mortal coil in which we all reside,
But our soul’s energy will live forever on life’s epic ride.

A dress floats in never land
Wisps of smokes seen from the fire ahead
Raging gloriously.
Bodies merge
In a rhythmic pattern.
A lion poses ferociously
A tiger follows his suit
Bursts of colors
Vibrantly lit,
Flashing magnificently
And then, darkness.
Blinding darkness.
Eerie silence.

Suddenly, a loud roar
Reaches the crowd
Sequins shine through, like diamonds
Lantern lights up in hues of orange and red
An elephant saunters by
And a scream revives the place
Followed by a deafening crowd
Twirls by dazzling women
Walking on air,
Jumps all around.
World
A beautiful, beautiful place.

The feeling of your slightly unsteady heartbeat against my chest
makes me feel as though you're actually mine.
Like every single part of you belongs to me.
The soft touch of your vibrantly glowing skin
brushing against mine makes butterflies flutter in my stomach,
like a whole new world of excitement,  
it makes me feel like I can't breathe and my whole universe is spinning.
When our lips stroke, tiny sparks shoot up my body and blow my mind,
causing me to close my tired eyes and cherish every moment.
When we kiss I feel the corners of your  mouth curl up into a beautiful smile,
as beautiful as a ray of sunlight on sun kissed skin that shimmers.
Every time you look at me my heart pounds out of my chest,
destined to be close to you.
Every time you look at me with those astounding,
incredible eyes I feel like I'm a part of you,
like you're a part of me.
Your seductive scent lingers on your clothing as our bodies press when we hug,
releasing a whole new drug that I crave...
You.
Our hands clasped,
Our eyes locked,
*I think that you'll find...
forever we are entwined.