By
Alexander K Opicho

(Eldoret, Kenya; aopicho@yahoo.com)


Spiritual scholars of Christian Science have a concept that there is
power in the name. They at most identify the name Jesus and the name
of God, Jehovah to be the most powerful names in the spiritual realm.
But in the world of literature and intellectual movement, art,
science, politics and creativity, the name Alexander is mysteriously
powerful. Averagely, bearers of the name Alexander achieve some unique
level of literary or intellectual glory, discover something novel or
make some breakaway political victories.

Among the ancient and present-day Russians, most bearers of the name
Alexander were imbued with some uniqueness of intellect, leadership or
literary mighty. Beginning with the recent times of Russia, the first
mysterious Alexander is the 1700 political reformist and effective
leader, Tsar Alexander and his beautiful wife, tsarina Alexandrina.
The couple transformed Russian society from pathetic peasantry to a
middle class society. It is Tsar Alexander’s leadership that lain a
foundation for Russian socialist revolution. Different scholars of
Russian history remember the reign of Tsar Alexander with a strong

bliss. This is what made the Lenin family to name their son Alexander
an elder brother to Vladimir Ilyanovsk Ilyich Lenin. This was done as
parental projection through careful   choice of a mentor for their
young son. Alexander Lenin was named after this formidable ruler; Tsar
Alexander. Alexander Lenin was a might scholar. An Intellectual and
political reformist. He was a source of inspiration to his young
brother Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, who became the Russian president after
his brother Alexander, had died through political assassination.
However, researches into distinctive prowess of these two brothers
reveal that Alexander Lenin was more gifted intellectually than
Vladimir Lenin.

Alexander Pushkin, another Russian personality with intellectual,
cultural, theatrical and   literary consenguences. He was a
contemporary of Alexander pope. He is the main intellectual influence
behind Nikolai Vasileyvich Gogol and very many other Russian writers.
He is to Russians what Shakespeare is to English speakers or victor
Hugo is to French speakers, Friedriech schiller and Frantz Kafka is to
Germany readers or Miguel de Cervantes to the Spaniards. Among English
readers, Shakespeare’s drama of king Lear is a beacon of English
political theatre, while Hugo’s Les miscerables is an apex of French
social and political literature, but Pushkin’s Boris Godunov, a
theatrical political satire, technically towers above the peers. For
your point of information my dear reader; there has been a
commonaplace false convention among English literature scholars that,
William Shakespeare in conjunction with Robert Greene wrote and
published highest number of books, more than anyone else. The factual
truth is otherwise. No, they only published 90 works, but Pushkin
published 700 works.
Equally glorious is Alexander Vasileyvich sholenstsyn,the, the, the
author of I will be on phone by five, Cancer Ward, Gulag Archipelago’
and the First Cycle. He is a contemporary of Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor
Dostoyevsky, Alfred Nobel and Maxim Gorky. Literary and artistic
excellence of Alexander Sholenstsyn,the, the anti-communist Russian
novelist was and is still displayed through his mirroring of a corrupt
Russian communist politics, made him a debate case among the then
committee members for Nobel prize and American literature prize, but
when the Kremlin learned of this they, detained Alexander sholenenstyn
at Siberia for 18 years this is where he wrote his Gulag Archipelago.
Which he wrote as sequel five years later to the previous novel the
Cancer Ward whose main theme is despair among cancer patients in the
Russian hospitals. This was simply a satirical way of expressing agony
of despair among the then political prisoners at Siberia concentration
camps .In its reaction to this communist front to capitalist
literature through the glasnost machinery, the Washington government
ordered chalice Chaplin an American pro-communist writer to be out of
America within 45 minutes.
Alexander’s; Payne, Pato, Petrovsky, and Pires are intellectual
torchbearers of the world and Russian literary civilization. Not to
forget, Alexander Popov, a poet and Russian master brewer, whose
liquor brand ‘Popov’ is the worldwide king of bar shelves?
In 1945 the Russians had very brutish two types of guns, designed to
shoot at long range with very little chances of missing the target.
These guns are; AK 47 and the Molotov gun. They were designed to
defeat the German **** and later on to be used in international
guerrilla movement. The first gun AK 47 was designed by Alexander
klashilinikov and the second by Alexander Molotov. These are the two
Alexander’s that made milestones in history of world military
technology.
The name Alexander was one of the titles or the epithet used to be
given to the Greek goddess Hera and as such is taken to mean the one
who comes to save warriors. In Homer’s epical work; the Iliad, the
most dominant character Paris who often saved the other warriors was
also known also as Alexander. This name’s linkage to popularity was
spread throughout the Greek world by the military maneuvers and
conquests of King Alexander III. Alexander III is commonly known as
Alexander the Great .  Evidently; the biblical book of Daniel had a
prophecy. It was about fall of empires down to advent of Jesus as a
final ruler. The prophecy venerated Roman Empire above all else. As
well the, prophecy magnified military brilliance, intellect and
leadership skills of the Greek, Alexander the great, the conqueror of
Roman Empire. Alexander the great was highly inspired by the secret
talks he often held with his mother. All bible readers and historians
have reasons to believe that Alexander of Greece was powerful,
intellectually might, strong in judgment and a political mystery and
enigma that remain classic to date.
In his book Glimpses of History, jewarlal Nehru discusses the Guru
Nanak as an Indian religious sect, Business Empire, clan, caste, and
an intellectual movement of admirable standard that shares a parrell
only with the Aga Khans. Their   founder is known, as Skander Nanak
.The name skander is an Indian version for Alexander. Thus, Alexander
Nanak is the founder of Guru Nanak business empire and sub Indian
spiritual community. Alexander Nanak was an intellectual, recited
Ramayana and Mahabharata off head; he was both a secular and religious
scholar as well as a corporate strategist.
The American market and industrial civilsations has very many
wonderful Alexander’s in its history. The earliest known Alexander in
American is Hamilton, the poet, writer, politician and political
reformist. Hamilton strongly worked for establishment of American
constitution. Contemporaries of Hamilton are; Alexander graham bell
and Alexander flemming.bell is the American scientist who discovered a
modern electrical bell, while Fleming, A Nobel Prize Laureate
discovered that fungus on stale bread can make penicillin to be used
in curing malaria. Other American Alexander’s are; wan, Ludwig,
Macqueen, Calder and ovechikin.
Italian front to mysterious greatness in the name Alexander
spectacularly emanates from science of electricity which has a
measuring unit for electrical volume known as voltage. The name of
this unit is a word coined from the Italian name Volta. He was an
Italian scientist by the name Alesandro Volta. Alesandro is an Italian
version for Alexander. Therefore it is Alexander Volta an Italian
scientist who discovered volume of electrical energy as it moves along
the cable. Thus in Italian culture the name Alexander is also a
mystery.
Readers of European genre and classics agree that it is still
enjoyfull to read the Three Musketeers and the Poor Christ of
Montecristo for three or even more times. They are inspiring, with a
depth of intellectual character, and classic in lessons to all
generations. These two classics were written by Alexander Dumas, a
French literary genious.he lived the same time as Hugo and
Dostoyevsk.when Hugo was writing the Hunch-back of Notredame Dumas was
writing the Three Musketeers. These two books were the source of
inspiration for Dostoyevsky to write Brothers Karamazov. Another
notable European- *** -American Alexander is  Alexander pope, whose
adage ‘short knowledge is dangerous,’ has remained a classic and ever
quoted across a time span of two centuries. Alexander pope penned this
line in the mid of 1800 in his poem better drink from the pyrene
spring.

In the last century colleges, Universities and high schools in Kenya
and throughout Africa, taught Alexander la Guma and Alexander Haley as
set- book writers for political science, literature and drama courses.
Alexander la Guma is a South African, ant–apartheid crusader and a
writer of strange literary ability. His commonly read books are A walk
in the Night, Time of the Butcher Bird and In the Fog of the Season’s
End. While Alexander Haley is an African in the American Diaspora. An
intellectual heavy- weight, a politician, civil a rights activist and
a writer of no precedent, whose book The Roots is a literary
blockbuster to white American artists. Both la Guma and Haley are
African Alexander’s only that white bigotry in their respective
countries of America and South Africa made them to be called Alex’s.
The Kenyan only firm for actuaries is Alexander Forbes consultants.
Alexander Forbes was an English-American mathematician. The lesson
about Forbes is that mystery within the name Alexander makes it to be
the brand of corporate actuarial practice in Africa and the entire
world.
Something hypothetical and funny about this name Alexander is that its
dictionary definition is; homemade brandy in Russia, just the way the
east African names; Wamalwa, Wanjoi and Kimaiyo are used among the
Bukusu, Agikuyu and Kalenjin communities of Kenya respectively. More
hypothetical is the lesson that the short form of Alexander is Alex;
it is not as spiritually consequential in any manner as its full
version Alexander. The name Alex is just plain without any powers and
spiritual connotation on the personality and character of the bearer.
The name Alexander works intellectual miracles when used in full even
in its variants and diminutives as pronounced in other languages that
are neither English nor Greece. Presumably the - ander section of the
name (Alex)ander is the one with life consequences on the history of
the bearer. Also, it is not clear whether they are persons called
Alexander who are born bright and gifted or it is the name Alexander
that conjures power of intellect and creativity on them.
In comparative historical scenarios this name Alexander has been the
name of many rulers, including kings of Macedon, kings of Scotland,
emperors of Russia and popes, the list is infinite. Indeed, it is bare
that when you poke into facts from antiques of politics, religion and
human diversity, there is rich evidence that there is substantial
positive spirituality between human success and social nomenclature in
the name of Alexander. Some cases in archaic point are available in a
listological exposition of early rulers on Wikipedia. Some names on
Wikipedia in relation to the phenomenon of Alexanderity are: General
Alexander; more often known as Paris of Troy as recounted by Homer in
his Iliad. Then ensues a plethora; Alexander of Corinth who was the
10th king of Corinth , Alexander I of Macedon, Alexander II of
Macedon, Alexander III of Macedonia alias  Alexander the Great. There
is still in the list in relation to Macedonia, Alexander IV  and
Alexander V. More facts of the antiques have   Alexander of Pherae who
was the despotic ruler of Pherae between 369 and 358 before the Common
Era. The land of Epirus had Alexander I the king of Epirus about 342
before the Common Era and Alexander II  the king of Epirus 272 before
the Common Era. A series of other Alexander’s in the antiques is
composed of ; Alexander the  viceroy of Antigonus Gonatas and also the
ruler of a **** state based on Corinth in 250 before the common era,
then Alexander Balas, ruler of the Seleucid kingdom of Syria between
150 and 146 before the common era . Next in the list is  Alexander
Zabinas the ruler of part of the Seleucid kingdom of Syria based in
Antioch between 128 and 123  before the common era ,  then Alexander
Jannaeus king of Judea, 103 to 76  before the common era  and last but
not least  Alexander of Judaea  son of Aristobulus  II the  king of
Judaea .  The list of Alexander’s in relation to the antiquated  Roman
empire are; Alexander Severus, Julius Alexander who lived during the
second  century as the Emesene nobleman, Then next is Domitius
Alexander the Roman usurper who declared himself emperor in 308. Next
comes Alexander the emperor of Byzantine. Political antiques of
Scotland have Alexander I , Alexander II and Alexander III of Scotland
. The list cannot be exhausted but it is only a testimony that there
are a lot of Alexander’s in the antiques of the world.
Religious leadership also enjoys vastness of Alexander’s. This is so
among the Christians and non Christians, Catholics and Protestants and
even among the charismatic and non-charismatic. These historical
experiences start with Alexander kipsang Muge the Kenyan Anglican
Bishop who died in a mysterious accident during the Kenyan political
dark days of Moi. But when it comes to  The antiques  catholic
pontifical history, there is still a plethora of them as evinced on
Wikipedia ; Pope Alexander I , Alexander of Apamea also the  bishop of
Apamea, Pope Alexander II ,Pope Alexander III, Pope Alexander IV, Pope
Alexander V, Pope Alexander VI, Pope Alexander VII, Pope Alexander
VIII, Alexander of Constantinople the bishop of Constantinople , St.
Alexander of Alexandria also the  Coptic Pope and Patriarch of
Alexandria between  then Pope Alexander II of Alexandria the  Coptic
Pope  and lastly Alexander of Lincoln the bishop of Lincoln and
finally  Alexander of Jerusalem.
However, the fact of logic is inherent in the premise that there is
power in the name .An interesting experience I have had is that; when
Eugene Nelson Mandela ochieng was kidnapped in Nairobi sometimes ago,
a friend told me that there is power in the name. The name Mandela on
a Nairobi born Luo boy attracts strong fortune and history making
eventualities towards the boy, though fate of the world interferes,
the boy Eugene Mandela ochieng is bound to be great, not because he
was kidnapped but because he has an assuring name Nelson Mandela. With
extension both in Africa and without ,May God the almighty add all
young Alexander’s to the traditional list of other great and
formidable  Alexander’s that came before. Amen.

References;
Jewarlal Nehru; Glimpses of History


Alexander K Opicho is a social researcher with Sanctuary Researchers
ltd in Eldoret, Kenya he is also a lecturer in Research Methods in
governance and Leadership.

As I scarpered away, I could hear the voices,
echoing through the steel walls.
The cries, the vociferations, catching up to me,
couldn't fathom the escape, with a plan full of flaws.

Turning left, bending right,
running in circles, an endless plight.
The drug they induced,
pumping through my veins,
blocking my vision, severing the mains.
Don't know for how long,
I can put up this fight.

The sentinels advanced,
as fast and agile as they ever could be.
The alarm had rung more than once,
red lights poured all over the scene.

Needle in hand, dipped in ataractic,
who were they fooling, with that mild sedative?
I raced with every semblance of life I had,
couldn't survive this hell-hole.
Another day here would've driven me mad.

As the unexpected turn came,
I banged the door with the unknown name.
Fell face first, the momentum it carried me,
Scraped through the floor, stomach felt queasy.
Warm liquid oozed out of my nose,
dripping tardily as I rose,
the environment all but blurry.


Insanity Prevailed


As I blacked out,
I recalled how I came to be,
this house of horrors, delivered to me.
'Magnolia', home of the mentally challenged,
avowed 'care for the community'.

The head-shrink had advised,
you be safe, a feeling I imbibed.
A wry smile and that was it,
'Magnolia' She exclaimed,' would deem you fit.'

Believing in every word of hers,
I opened the door, welcomed
by the smell of fresh carcass,
the shabby floor with spots of dirt,
and people, oh lord the great unwashed,
like walking zombies, feelings inert.
They looked at me, some smiled and some laughed,
others cried, rest merely coughed.
So this is it, the house of the harebrained,
this was going to be my life,
Living among the insane.

I harbored no ill will,
But I couldn't absolve,
this feeling, inside me,
no friends no family, nothing normal.
Lasting with the un-dead,
my new destiny.

They filed me,
Gave a number, names were difficult to process,
66 it was, perfect, contributed  distress.
Admitted to my room, solitary for the neophyte,
'Morning' they said,' begins a new life.'

With a wicked smile they left me alone,
I was meek enough to cry, stiff enough to moan.
I wailed the whole night, the walls resonated,
the shrill of metal, the demons it encouraged.
The lights polished off, staring at the darkness,
all the monsters , the behemoth, dancing around me,
an invitation to their everlasting music.


Insanity Persisted


A specter bobbed up from the tiled floor,
gazed at me and pointed to the door.
'Rise, Awaken, my soul',
and the door opened with a loud crack,
'You must hurry, the guards will be back'.
I sat bolt upright, the apparition never lied.

Nose still bleeding, I took flight with haste,
looked back, they had dropped the chase.
It felt safe after a long time,
The world must know, of their wicked little crime.
They had to be stopped, the Doctor, the Nurse,
all of which were part of the crust,
which protected the whacko who experimented on us.

End of the hall, I noticed the Blue door,
It had to be the one, which will take me off-shore.
Head still paining, the doses that drained,
the vigor and strength, I couldn't sustain.
One last time, I had to draft
my will my power, from within.
To conjure up all my might,
before the shadows cave in.

As I drew nearer, towards the blue threshold.
I knew there was no looking back,  
nothing left to unfold.
I slowed down, one step at a time,
I could taste freedom, a taste so sublime.
My hand reached the door,
and gently turned the ****,
I pushed open the exit
and stared at the waiting mob.

Before I could assimilate,
with my failure and disappointment.
Someone jabbed a needle,
covering my mouth, crackling my vent.
Pushing me again, down the memory lane.


Insanity Pursued


The days were bad,
the nights equally worse.
A thin line existed between illusion and insanity,
indistinguishable they became, virtual and reality.
One could hear screams, begging for mercy,
Which the henchmen showed no sign of,
and continued to treat the already cured.

Those who betrayed, yearning exemption,
were treated with immense brutality.
Straightjackets, shackles and all sorts of gear,
were enough to put a man in psychotic fear.
The staff comprised barbarians and sadists.
Who lacked the basic sense of morality.

Shock therapy, voltage to its max,
bound and gagged, glued to the sacks.
The jolt of the lightning hitting them hard,
enough to churn up the flesh into lard.
They drugged the sufferer, the dupe would tranquil,
the fallout was horrible, it would make them frenzied.

For those beyond cure,
who lived for mere existence,
earned their own private, privileged experiment.
A special space, a hidden chamber,
well beyond, beneath the ground.
Defecated walls, layered flesh and blood,
****** fluids scattered,
in abundance, constituting a flood.
Human torture, vicious and cruel.

In a place so dark even the demons would fear,
how could I survive? This life to me was dear.
And the patients, the patients wouldn't help,
for them it was a game, live a day, reward for the next.
Some were quiet, lost in their own world,
speaking, whispering and talking to themselves.
Some looked sane, but stuck in paranoia,
for them the universe could any day cease to exist,
pertaining to their biggest phobia.
some were smart, they indulged in theories,
the real world mattered less to them.
And then there were the trigger-happy.
The truly maddened ones, violent with rage.
Every day was a battle, they fought within the cage.
They couldn't help me, for I wasn't crazy,
Just your usual guy, a victim of fate.

Magnolia was a place, where people ****** away their souls,
I wasn't ready to sell mine.
I had to escape, make an elaborate design.
There were no doctors at night, just the cruel handy-men,
had all the time in the world to formulate a plan,
question was, to execute when?

One night the attendant came,
wearing  a strange jumpsuit,
pen in breast-pocket,
woke me up and proclaimed, 'Get up you imbecile,
it's your turn in the lab today.
Stand up now, I ain't got all day!'
'HAH! You could try young man, to put me down,
but I ain't going to your lousy town'.
To this he smacked at my retort,
and laughed with a disgusting little snort.
'One more time you test my good nature,
and I swear to God I'll ruin your caricature.'
'Go ahead then give it your best shot,
You want me dead, do you not?'.
His laughter, this time, deafened the silence all around.
'You're dead fool! If it were up to me I'd skin you flesh and bone,
The amount of ruckus you create, the annoyance you hone,
But the good doctor has plans and once he's done with you..'
His unfinished sentence struck a nerve so strong,
my eyes rolled over,
what could possibly go wrong?

So the man with the strange jumpsuit,
dragged me all the way to the office.
The dimly lit room, ornamented a large crucifix.
Dear lord, you see how they mock?
Came back the degenerate with a big round lock.
'Oh yes, this is for you my friend,
chains aren't enough, straightjacket I will get.
Sit still you half-wit, else you'd regret'.
And I smiled and waited.
He returned as promised, with the piece of vestiary,
a twisted sense of humor, whoever built this monstrosity.

He stared where I looked, into his breast pocket.
'What's missing pal?' I asked in amusement.
He stopped everything and looked around.
With a motion so fast, it could only fly by,
gripping the pen, I poked him in the eye.
Ink exuded instead of blood,
the large man fell, loud with a thud.
The immense pain had him in shock,
now was the time for me to run amok.
But I kept focus, and ran for the door,
promised myself never to look back anymore.
Eloped with the only chance I foxed.


Insanity Reigned


The source of light was so strong,
I twitched a lot, just to see what's going on.
Caged in a room, no wait, a theatre!
****! I was so close to getting out.
The staff, I assume, were prepared all along.
Hatched a sinister plot, to show where I belong.
They had me now, tied to a work bench,
metal clasps around my wrist,
belted to the maximum limit.
For some odd reason they had me gagged,
the tape tasted foul, hygiene they lacked.
I wrestled my wrists with the wrought metal clamp.
But they were tight, wouldn't budge,
getting them off needed more than a nudge.

Alas the doctor came, with a frown upon his face,
With great ruefulness, he peeled off the tape.
'You caused us a great deal of trouble today.
None of our methods have impacted on you, what do you have to say?'
'Serves you right, you junk-less freak!' I was happy he was disappointed,
'That's not a very nice thing to say' responded the doctor, almost agitated.

He picked up an instrument,
a big long nail, the pointed end was so sharp,
I could feel it piercing through my brain.
Next he lifted a mallet,
which shone so bright it reflected upon my face.
To what devilish purpose could they serve?
The doctor took his time, and allowed me to observe.
He wore his mask, the mask of a surgeon,
at this time of the night? Surely he wasn't
planning to operate on me.
'Leave me alone, what are you doing?
Surely you know I'm not to be blamed, I don't belong here.
This is insane!'
'Wrong again 66, the society would never accept you.
You killed your wife and children, ******'s on you.'
It was at this moment the specter re-appeared, right behind the doctor.
Calling me, my name,
'They're all lying, you didn't **** anyone, they're framing you.'
'LIAR!' I spat at the doctor, 'You know she's is alive and waiting for me at the doorstep,
As always' I said.
'Yes she is waiting, but only at her death bed.'
'LIAR! You know my kids are sleeping peacefully at home!'
'Yes they are, but the sleep is eternal.'
'LIES! I can't **** a person,not even a fly!'
'And yet you poked my assistant right in the eye!'

The specter now appeared closer,
in a calming tone almost a whisper,
'Do not believe a word they said.
You're not a killer, just a victim of fate.'
Exactly, that's precisely what I meant.

With all the strength my voice box could muster,
I cried so hard the doctors ears could rupture.
' LIES! LIES! ALL LIES! You won't get away with this, the truth will come out.
Why would I ever **** them for crying out loud?'

'You're right, the truth shall come out, but not in this form, not from you.
66 has to die, a fact you always knew.'

No one dies today

'Hold him still.' The good doctor ordered.
A pair of hands inclined my head south,
Another pair, taped away my mouth.
I could hear music, a soft hum.
It had calmed me down ,that bass drum.
It kept beating at regular intervals.
The specter now, beside me,
placing her hand on my shoulders.
I looked up towards the sky, a light bulb
glowed right above my nose.
The doctor raised the nail,
a dot replaced the light source.
As the blot grew in size,
the light dimmed, luminance was minimized.
The music almost placid,
it made me smile, a smile so gentle.
The doctor enounced,
'This will only hurt a little.'
And as he struck, the spirit vanished,
the music stopped.


Insanity Triumphed

V-is for vowing to never drink *****
While on our voluntary vacation.
We have voiced our verification
In a high voltage volcano
While playing volleyball
And checking our voicemail.
While in this void,
A terrifyingly vivid *****
Who was a model for vogue
In which she wore a V-neck dress,
And ate all her vitamins
Vocabulized with much volume,
Her vow
To always,
Drink *****.

beautiful fair maiden
tending her mistress
revering in her muses .

long auburn tresses
come undone,
once a braid
embellished with ribbons
deep lavender color
as maiden’s eyes.

entering parlor
the comely chevalier
stunned by his presence.
voltage lightening sparkles
for time stopped.

remaining composed
casting downward
to make her leave,
empress needs tending affairs.

smitten she was
aghast a fool
she might've looked
her skin flushed
with reverence to behold.

unbeknownst to the privy
betrothal is in making
for he paid a pretty pence.

enchanted ever after
cinderella no more.~~copyrightlorilynn2011

Through the serendipity of a naive act,
A mere rumour of the bygone tale.
Perceived by a small offense,
Was the story of Riverdale.

A machine of parts and *****,
Built for an arithmetical crusade,
Channeled with high voltage,
The tool for every complex barricade.

For science has toyed with his destiny,
For his life was a written code,
For his face was made of metal alloy,
For his troubles laid on the same road.


For his calculations were neat as heaven,
As his binary numbers were perfectly synch,
Like the sun rising on an early day,
Like the rain falling on the same clay.

But the story took a seismic turn,
His mind was on a number's high,
When like lightning came she,
A thunderstorm from a clear sky
A mermaid out of the blue sea,

She touched his metal face,
For she had seen none of like him.
But that touch created a little spark,
In the metal heart out of chances that slim.

As his codes discharged to form a conscious wave,
For the metal mind felt the aura,
For the metal body moved to dance,
For Riverdale loved that girl,
For she was his fading chance.

But do the humans  understand love?
I doubt they do, for the metal heart,
Was driven out from the lands.
For his story never had a start.

The sin of emotion, the bliss of pain,
For his metal heart rusted in vain.
Over his kingdom of broken dreams,
Neither did she, nor a soul felt his reign.

As his metal body rusted away,
In the aura of an insane world,
Where love is a jewellery reserved,
For this misery has now unfurled,
He died a metal death with a humane heartbreak.

Islands formed thru
Sea-
Children run to
Parliament laughing/
Cheerful for their own
Crucifixion.
Airplane tendril exhaust chokeholds my
Bluesky-
IT'S GETTING HOT, HUH?
Pollution pill form
Pharmacy extract deathglue
Coats up our public parks.
Concave eyes are sputtering visions
Of smog clocks-a-tickin tomorrows.
Nobody ventures to the river anymore.
The TV antannae blasphemy signal prayer to
White House Christs
and "reality" transmitted poison
is too DISTRACTING!
Cacophony vibrating in the trees
Where somebody spray paints
"**** THIS ONE TOO"
Drunk on the Marina by midday
Oh, that one was funny.
Police cars butterfly the nest with siren wings..
THE COLORS OF AMERICA MIND YOU.
Arresting the Accordion player by Robinson's outdoor shop?
NOWwhowouldwannadothat!
They're just swaying the jagged noise imitations of Sinatra!
Decadence infected that instrument and its vessel a long time ago now.
Keep on playing there Francis its okay nobody is listening.
Budded beam of light serenades
Chinatown Upper Floor Apartment
Delirium/three women shouting from their balcony high off ***** from next door neighbor.
questions
For the next time
"Why do I feel so unhappy now?" addiction therapeutic
Temporarily, easing headache and that depression, lady is screaming now in her sleep.
Gargoyle security cameras haunt the street corners.
Electric generators perfume the musical thinman who plays saxophone on lower Pandora,
Two in the morning imagination
Boundless between industry and
Needle prodded Lepers wailing on the adjacent sidewalk, muttering to past childhood friends who took form of rapid voices
Praying for suicide in that HEAD OF THEIRS/I'LL DO ANYTHING YOU ASK!
Men searing their skin with
Carnival narcotics
Tableau upon the bleeding
Walls of modern Hades.
Hopeless romantics
Tread benches facing the
Amber sheathed City blocks
contemplating their emotional vacancies
& labyrinthine desires
(How to achieve the unconquerables of love??)
Can hardly walk in that there
Brilliant light of Luna
Candle for the lonely planetarium
(Childlike galaxy!)
Undeniably complex/
Mademoiselle waving her soft hand alltheway out to
Intercosmic space!
Lipstick stainless
Alpha Centauri
Don't know what DAZZLE romances are,
man o man o woman o mano e mano
Voltage surge thru veins and brain-
Institutionalize me!
I'm in love!
Power of Napoleon in here!
(Tap to my ribs implying the heart is beating poems again)
ecstasy isn't no sanity at all,
Happiness in times like ours is
Delusional half-consious *******
Fed by the state.
Listened in on a podcast once
At work, theys men prophesied
Discombobulation of our economy!
Nostradamus-Moderne waving his phallus of necropolis political
Myth finishing on everyone
From Taiwan to Manhattan
(Tho the myth may be truth yet)
Sunshine bedroom
The Shadows of knight play Darkside recording
(1968)
New American and Canadian Poetry
Rests under faraway currencies
That once rested in my pocket during
Late walk out of Furama,
Mosquitoes illuminated from
Restaurant lanterns and enormous Asiatic hotels.
Tropical sweat beaded from my head,
Hair was shorter back then..
Bike & Blue Cabcar race past,
Tide of the Indian ocean feline
Elegance as Southern Hemisphere
Heats up my ankles,
Balinese acoustic band covering Crosby Stills & Nash (Suite Ruby Blue Eyes) distantly midst oriental carpets and beaded umbrellas where Australians smoke the cigarettes which smell of cigars.
Guitar string clatter,
Fireflies  (flying lightbulbs)
Catching words from accent
Frenzy wordscramble.
This place calls itself Oasis,
Yet here they are the Kuta Bums!
Palm pattern shirts unbuttoned halfway revealing russet hairy chests/ sunbunrt necks/ tanned cheeks/
Pimply backs.
One keeps returning to my table,
The answers always the same
"No thank you" till I feels like being
Impolite.
Oh! The bothering efforts these Bums put in.
It's against the law to pay them jack-
but their brains have turnt to wack-
From hallucinatory perils-
Making muck of their thoughts and dreams reality a-tattered skin
Simply easing by they don't know one February vs the next
Or the laws
Or this that and the other!
Belt buckles light&wind; up toys
Glowsticks hat tricks body ticks
Lighter flicks nausea aura
Body odor
Depression
Anxiety
Illness variety
Candy capped with dots
an' golden cyanide
Bruised nails, infected eyes glazed,
Minds dazed, gods prayed to, Buddhas praised.
Sutras practiced on the southern axis
"GOOD PRICE, JUST FOR YOU MY WHITE FRIEND"
Preach their evening discount discourse holding riven boxes
Tainted with wax chalk.
Who worries of them now?
I'm across the Pacific sea!
Thousands a Miles away
From memory.

My love is hungry
My bank means nothing
The moon shines
Impressions of Autumn
Upon the consciousness of
A spark surviving a typhoon.
Where was I?
The thought has ended.

Many of you don’t know this,
but I wear my sunglasses at night when I write,
and I know I am a poet,
and I’m supposed to be both understood and misunderstood at the same time,

but I can tell you exactly why I wear my sunglasses when I write,

without any misinterpretations whatsoever,
I wear my sunglasses when I write to block the EMFs,
that emit from the the screen on my electronic device,
and make their way to try and make a way into my eyes,

it’s as if every electronic device is alive,
and they want to take every thing from us including our vibe,
and I’m not sure for sure if this is true so just to be safe I protect my eyes,
by wearing my sunglasses at night when I write,

I want to stay pure,
pure enough at least for you,
because everything I write and do,
of course I do it for you,

as cliche as that might sound,
please know that every word of it is true,
and I’m trying not to rhyme to much so these words don’t sound corny,
but I’m a poet I can’t help it I rhyme without even trying *** else am I supposed to do,

and as far as cliches I’ve got another one coming your way hey, “I Love You.”

I love you,
and I’m trying to stay as pure as I can,
so that I can be clear when I see you,
if we ever have the pleasure of seeing each other again,

as lovers or friends,

either way I am here,

and I’m open,
completely,
devoted,
and cleanly,
unfolded,
and ready,
high voltage,
but steady,
I told ya,
I’m ready,
I noticed,
already,
that you noticed,
me so deeply,
that I broke open easy,
as our emotions,
became confetti,
I told you I told you,
I’ve already been ready already,
and we’re in a storm,
and we’re lost at sea,
but we’re almost to shore,
so please just hold steady,

steady,
steady,
breathe,
steady,

steady hand writes the words,
before fingers become spaghetti and I can write no more,

because honestly I feel like I’m losing all control,
and honestly experiencing strange things then staring at screens doesn’t help,

help,

this is a cry for help,
I’m not scared to admit I’m scared,
I actually have only one fear,
I’m only scared of one thing and nothing else,

being alone.

I am alone.

You are alone.

But we can be alone together.

I told you before I’m totally open,
I told you before I’ve already been ready already,
and I’m trying to stay as pure as possible as I wait for you,
and that’s why I wear these sunglasses so that the EMFs don’t extra affect me,

many,

of you don’t know this,
but I wear my sunglasses at night when I write,
and I know I am a poet,
and I’m supposed to be both understood and misunderstood at the same time,

but I can tell you exactly why I wear my sunglasses when I write,
without any misinterpretations whatsoever,
I wear my sunglasses when I write to block the EMFs,
that emit from the the screen on my electronic device,
and make their way to try and make a way into my eyes,

it’s as if every electronic device is alive,
and they want to take every thing from us including our vibe,
and I’m not sure for sure if this is true so just to be safe I protect my eyes,
by wearing my sunglasses at night when I write,

I want to stay pure,
pure enough at least for you,
because everything I write and do,
of course I do it for you,

as cliche as that might sound,
please know that every word of it is true,
and I’m trying not to rhyme to much so these words don’t sound corny,
but I’m a poet I can’t help it I rhyme without even trying *** else am I supposed to do,

and as far as cliches I’ve got another one coming your way hey, “I Love You.”

I love you,
and I’m trying to stay as pure as I can,
so that I can be clear when I see you,
if we ever have the pleasure of seeing each other again,

as lovers or friends,

either way I am here,

wearing my sunglasses at night when I write,
and I know I am a poet,
and I’m supposed to be both understood and misunderstood at the same time,
but I can tell you exactly why I wear my sunglasses when I write…

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆