To adolescent girls
We know infatuation as love.
A cute boy, paying attention and being kind
Unlike our mothers and fathers.
Or a handsome young man
Showing just enough distance, and disinterest,
That it is familiar, but we do not yet know why…
So the starving soul craves more, more, more.
So our stupid hearts say love, love, love.
I do not know about you,
But in retrospect I do not think that I loved these boys.

I would sit up late, plagued with an insomniac’s depression.
Thinking of these boys that had left me in the dust,
Commercials playing loudly over an old box television.
My impressionable brain unaware of the absorption of utter *******.
But the logical fallacies of consumerism and capital leaked into my psyche,
As I begged to be noticed.
Rebranding myself every so often
Once even under a different name.  Always new labels;
A cheerleader, an emo, a stoner, a scholar
Trying to find some sense of self,
Trying to sell my soul (subconsciously) for acceptance.

No one ever understood me like you,
And I dare to say, perhaps out of ego, that no one has ever understood you like me.
You've had friends for longer than me now,
You are happy, without me, clinging to your side.
Maybe you are understood once again
Maybe you are the chameleon that I once was.
Either way, I want you to be happy, do as you do.
Although I can no longer be the chameleon,
I cannot change my colors as life goes on around me, fitting in whatever life throws at me.
I feel old, I am deeply tired.  
I know that I am young, but I have seen too much.
I threw my life away for a self-titled happiness extract,
Isolation and degradation became all I knew.
Cynicism rose up inside of me, and when I heard the commercials I once fell asleep to
I decided that not only the advertisements,
But the world was *******.

I remember young adolescence,
I recall kisses and uncomfortable fondling in basement bathrooms and crawlspaces with these boys in which I thought that I loved,
That never cared for me like I cared for them,
Even so it was infatuation and not love.
I remember a kiss in your bed.
I remember the absolute terror when it occurred to me, years later.
I never loved anyone softly,
I loved viciously, desperately, and even loved just to cling on for life.
I loved you softly, I loved you dearly, I loved you deeply.
I always told myself it was platonic, but it was neither platonic or romantic.
I just loved you, like I had never loved anyone else.  Without fear, without sacrifice, without dereliction.
I did not realize this
Until a state-assigned therapist pointed out in the basement of the facility I resided
“When you speak of her, I see love in your eyes that I don't ever see.”
I hated her for that,
“Dumb *****, I love writing, I love music, I loved Xander, I love my family!”
“But Caidyn,” she said
“I have not ever seen this kind of love in your eyes.”
It occurred to me then, and not until then
That when I held you, as you slept
In a hotel room after a concert
As infomercials bellowed violently into my soul
That I will never feel that sense of warmth, happiness and belonging ever again.
Not to say I won't find love,
But the innocence and naïveté
The faith I had, that we would escape side by side
And always remain side by side.
I know now,
That your first love
Never works out like that.

I dream of days where ridiculous advertisements filled my sleepy brain without judgement,
Because for any glimpse of hope I get
I am devoured by longing.
I remember how “everything is *******”.
And feel guilty for my bitterness.
I realize I am no longer young in spirit
I am not the demographic for any meaningless advert.
I am a forgotten human, not an outcast, but a memory to those I cared for.
I can no longer avoid it.
I think of when I held you,
and didn't even think anything of it.

Your consciousness is restricted by your self-imposed ignorance. You are so much more then your consumerism impulses, your romantic fantasies/heartaches, your political ideologies, and your religious dogmas. You are a universe of potential, something that can be developed in the stillness of introverted introspection, something that is unique and beautiful, something that longs to be shared with the world. You are your own mechanism for self-directed emotional, intellectual, nutritional, and  neurochemical evolution. You just have to look beyond the predefined prepackaged reality and realize just because it is done this way does not mean it has to be done that.

Don't toss me away
Like any empty bottle
I'm vintage
With a stamp from
The ancient royals

Keep me please
I don't want to join
The other piles of
Tainted-colored glasses
I want to stay here

I've filled you up
And I've kept your promises
Now, keep mine
Keep me as a collector's item
Let me be there for you

I want to be found
Not by any other stranger
Only by a friend like you
I want to be treasured
And not broken

Not shattered to pieces
On the curb of a sidewalk
To be recycled
Into the consumerism
Again and again

Let me have a home
In your heart
So you can physically greet me
And we'll acknowledge
Each other

Like old friends
I've kept you alive
So don't throw me out
Like yesterday's jam
Like any other old thing

Guess believing in the past
Gets harder when you approach
The future
So, I'll take my fate
And get lost

We used to work for what we need
But now we toil with thoughts of greed
Limitless hunger makes work tough
Because you'll never have enough

True wealth comes from a different place
A source of emotion and grace
Don't let your heart be ruled by want
And resist desires endless taunt

Culture Vultures dining on carcasses,
a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
or both no vote only the onset of mainstream socialist monarchism,
a subconscious stream of consciousness consumed by a constantly contradicting condition of consumerism,
an avalanche of retail therapy and the avant of avant-gardism,
doesn’t have to be a better product or improved edition,
just has to be better packaged and marketed,
sold our souls so we don’t own anything anymore not even our own cognizance,
just look what what the mass media market did,

our collective memories and ancient traditions all but forgotten,
designer jeans symbolize a degenerative disease like Parkinson’s,
want to end this madness but don’t know who started it,
so who can we blame but ourselves in all honestness,
as we absorb Virtual Reality and ignore Actual Reality creating an occultism of Oculus,
Rift we drift into thee abyss of dark indifferences…

Neglecting the blueprint everybody’s a studio gangsta these days just ask 50 Cent,
morally bankrupt lazy played daisies try to copy Jay-Z’s blueprint,
but no body has a DJ Clue or a Ty Dollar to spare still everyone’s got their two cents,
all opinions given with no wisdom taken from the Grand Architect,
what good is good advice if we don’t take the time to listen we just dismiss it quick,
showing off trophies donating charity checks,
acting like champions we bare and beat our chest,
wearing fool’s gold and blood diamonds but we’ve won nothing yet,
honestly feels like we haven’t even started yet,
still we feel exhausted from this rat race for dominance,
slaves of an alien race we pledge allegiance with our obedience and faux pas ambiance,

And it’s all almost over for our entire empire so every moment better cherish it,
white robes with Chipko flip flops we hold the reins to Her Majesty’s chariot,
whipping the 500 horses faster in the fast lane will get you buried quick,
so I try and pace it and not get too wasted still I feel very sick,
when captain screams “You move too slow sailor!”, that’a when it’s time to depart this ship,
but you can’t rush good art and I’m an articulating artist for all the artisans,
in a constant state of affairs is why I haven’t married yet,

which of course means no divorce from any or all of this,
so I continue to translate transmissions without prejudice,
love is star crossed colorblind and my wonder mind is in wonderland’s luminescence,
as I illustrate illustrious illuminations off every edifice in this hedonistic eden like Edison,
with an ample amount of ambiance this is this rebels renegade Renaissance,
I write light before I become just another martyr for the Martian’s master plans,
my words are honest sonnets on tablets of mono-cultured monograms,
mono-glyphs that shine like a beacon on the Tower of Babel atop a cavernous monolith…

This is all honest in all honestness.

Here at the docks with assorted Goddesses and narcissistic walruses,
way up down under not trying to be negative but the only thing I’m positive of is,

we are cultivating a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
so stay up and keep your eyes open because the games have just started kid.

This is all honest kid.

And I’m open to discuss everything except religion and of course politics,
so if you’re having issues then tell me what the problem is and maybe we can solve it quick,
and please don’t blame the Dalai Lama or Obama’s broken promises,
see we all have soiled wings just like these vultures that pick at our carcasses,
as we dine on Soylent Green served hot from the meting *** of concubine colleges,
wrong right black white day night see everything has it’s opposites,
so even the kindest animals will turn into carnivorous cannibals when all that’s left,
is blown kisses well wishes ***** dishes corrupt princes and spiritual paralysis,
this is the age of the dawning of Aquarius and the end of our passing genesis…

But what do I know I’m just a Son of a Gun on the run writing this mystic futuristic hit-list,
dressed to the nines with a bottle of moonshine and a bunch of empty cartridges,
in the Wild West with Clint Eastwood clean as a whistle mixin’ with ***** Harry’s pharmacist,
The Good Bad & The Ugly drink in acid rain and eat magic cactuses…

Howling at the full moon with peyote coyotes absent minded off the absinth mix…

Alive right here left for dead insane and out of practice with,
no clean water in the canteen and circling are the vultures just above us,
this teenage wasteland has no purpose with,
riff raft rats and religious rabbits in the crosshairs with deserted desert tortoises,
see these badlands will make the most professional professionals seem like just silly naive novices,
there’s nothing more to see here in this mirage except my rusty gun as it tarnishes…

my visions getting blurry bodies stopped but my mind’s still hurried this is what exhausted is,
and I’d escape if I knew a way out but instead I stay because I’m not sure what my other option is…

See I knew I would go I told you before everyone is targeted,
so soon it seems I’ll be just another rotting carcass that,
the Culture Vultures overhead dine on as their dinner when feeling peckishish,
terminated no terminator but like Arnold said, “I’ll be back.”, like I just started this…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

Worldwide Bestselling Poet

no one laughs the dead houses
line the streets i
never had anything
before the ritz and lsd
funnelled into shopping malls
hypnagogic life
taught whither wither
a dying world.

The front line of desire;
where we're sold labels and lifestyles.
Recreating us to sell us back to us;
becoming the ashes of our vanity's fire.