Filmmaking should be an art form, not merely a business.

The creative process should be personal, not impersonal.

Filmmaking should be sentimental, not political.

Performances should be natural, not robotic. They should be authentic, not artificial.

Writing should be truthful, not bogus.

Cinematography should be ambitious, not pretentious.

Premieres should be on a big screen, not a flat screen.

The audience should open up their preferences, not solidify them. They should respect traditions, not belittle them.

Profit should be a reward for hard work, not a motive for it.

Filmmaking should be intoxicating, not grueling.

Credit should be a right, not a luxury.

Ownership should be divided, not bombarded.

Final cuts should be final, not temporary.

The industry should be welcoming, not selective. It should be open, not gated.

Investors should require trust, not demand control.

We should treasure movies, not forget them over time.

Artists should be publicized, not exploited. They should be grateful, not prissy.

Celluloid should be valued, not endangered.

Equipment should last, not outdate within a year.

In a country full of opportunities, why is it so difficult to achieve what you want? Better yet, if you work hard enough, why could you still fail?

Yes, you can laugh in my face.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDII)


So Hollywood makes films of books, and hence
The De'il Wears Prada, or somesuch detail,
That purse I found at erm, Goodwill in pale
Excuse the thing itself, I guess.  Good sense
And taste, what Vogue swears by, oh sweet pretense!
It's leather, red and black with accents they'll
Approve of--buckles, rivets is't? t'avail
Hauteur in proper style.  Don't ask me whence.
I do not dress like some old frump as twere
Nor paint my face, although my nails would do
Some good if I could find some polish fer
Them.  It's a lie decked out as if's not true.
Yes, true.  But we put Trump in cuz it's poor
Nay, worse than poor:  cuz they are devils.  You?

08Nov18b

No Needy Eyes,
want for nothing,
only freedom eyes,
we have everything,

don’t mind the metaphors,
please pardon the ego,
I’m at Delilah’s high and,
I’m with chillin’ with some villains but they’re kind folks,

all vocal all loco,
let’s have a staring contest,
got a grip on my soul like a chokehold,
staring at me till my face melts,

humble as a roamin’ Nomad,
uncomfortable as a *** addict with a bad rash,
actually I take that last add back,
yeah I’m a ****** but no I don’t have a rash,

but I do have a pocket full of cash,
and I feel good but I want you bad,
swear to God I love You,
always will always have,

and that’s fact,

so real,
I wrote this on the back of a kin nap,
or rather a napkin,
either way I’m back in like I’ve been back,

back in,
this City of Angels,
with a bottle of Sin,
and some Best Friend Strangers,

all in on that God Level,
and I don’t wanna go even though,
I here the Devil callin’ and suspect I might be in trouble,
so I stay in the fast lane and take it slow,

gotta it right here so there’s no reason to go,

no Needy Eyes,
want for nothing,
only freedom eyes,
we have everything…


∆ LaLux ∆

October 8th, 2018
Hollywood, CA.

She wanted to be famous now
Since she was very pretty
Her hair was long and curly
She was the best singer in the talent show
And she did her make up well
And made it straight through hell

But when she became well known
Hollywood's true colours were shown
And soon she became thinner
As she was seen as a sinner
Soon she found hanging from a bit of rope
And left on her bed was a note...

'Note to self.
1: don't be famous
2: you're ugly'

My neck hurts from the curves that come when I exert,
enough energy to network with these nerds and increase my net worth,
she’s an alcoholic hanging out at the bar I’m a workaholic raising the bar,
so take a guess at who’s efforts are worth more,

anyways here we are,
or rather there we were,
since I’m with another girl now,
and no longer with her,

I’m with a girl I met on Venice Beach,
who wears tattoos on both arms like sleeves,
which is ironic since that’s also where she wears her heart,
at any rate I’m with a girl I met on Venice Beach,

we had dinner then had ***,
a typical set of activities on any given night in this city,
and after she finished she said I’d crossed a line,
and she proceeded to tell me a story,

of how she’d been gang ***** a few years ago,
and how she still carries what had been done to her around,
about how she’d been drugged up then **** fckt,
then left alone bruise faced ****** assed on the ground,

no reason to sugar coat it,
men can be fcking disgusting,
that’s why if I was a woman I’d be a lesbian,
and I don’t mean that in any way that’s funny,

we spoke in our awkward line crossed post *** sweat,
laying there exhausted on my bed,
we talked about how men are such conflicted creatures,
how they can be so nice on the surface but so mean with ***,

how most of them are just looking for a place to stick it in,
and how sickening that fact is especially since I’m one of those *******,
and she left my house soon after but I didn’t expect her to stay,
especially since everything we’d begun to make had already turned into a disaster,

and as she disappeared into the night,
on a bike as black as the sky,
I thought about how she reminded me,
of the Girl With The Dragon Tattoo and why…

∆ LaLux ∆

Everyone’s looking for an escape,
a virtual reality with alternative facts,
virtual because it’s almost reality,
except it’s reality without all the commitment,

and within,
a virtual reality we can augment,
what it used to be like back in base reality,
and we can ponder on where the time went,

& when  I say time,
I’m referring to the time in reality spent,
because after all reality is the only thing real,
and the experiences within them are the only thing you can’t invent,

see the truth is the only thing that exists in actually existence,

yeah sometimes truth is stranger than fiction,
ask Buckaroo Bonzai,
ask Stephen Hawkings ask Steve Jobs and,
ask yourself why you’re alive,

why you put up with the pain,
why you put yourself through,
why you still hesitate to act on instinct,
when you know there’s nothing to it but to do it,

everyone too scared to speak up,
but everyone wants to be a hero,
there’s not much purity to speak of,
and evil seems to wear a halo,

hey bro,
or sis,
or whatever label,
you label yourself with,

there’s not much untainted land left,
there’s not much clean water,
the days are getting shorter,
and the nights are getting longer,

the hearts are getting colder,
but the earth is getting hotter,
plus these days reality is such a pain,
it often doesn’t seem worth the bother,

maybe the rebellion can’t begin,
because maybe it’s already done,
but then again maybe it’s only getting started,
and maybe the games have only just begun,

and if this is the case,
then you know it’s already on,
but just one question before we begin,
are you Ready Player One?

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

Have you ever had a fantasy boyfriend?
The kind that thinks that you’re
A couple
Despite the fact that
You don’t have their cell number
Nor their name,
often
You never had *** or traded spit
They don’t know where you live
They, in fact, know nothing about you

A little laughter shared
Perhaps
A momentary giggle waiting
for the bathroom door to open
And bam! Like Zeus.
Without your ever knowing, you are a team.
A team that never engages
but together none the less. Solid.
Ride or Die.
Then one day
You have an ugly break up.
You never saw it coming
What did you do, you wonder?
He won’t speak to me!
He’s mad. Filled with resentment.
His eyes are on fire. I am hated.
He will show up the next time we see one another
with a woman
And that’s when you finally know for certain
You just had a Fantasy Boyfriend
How did you rupture?
It’s an eerie realization.
Like understanding in an instant
that neither are you the ventriloquist
nor the dummy
But somehow
you
go back into the box.

Better still, have you ever encountered the sub-species
Fantasy Bad Boyfriend?
Or Fantasy Abusive Bad Boyfriend?
They are perhaps the worst of the lot, naturally.
They don’t call.
They date other women.
They sit in their living rooms assured that you’re waiting at their front door.
In the rain.
With flowers.
Over and over the bell, ring though it might
It pleads on your behalf.
And yet they will not answer
And I was not standing there.
I was at the beach
watching the rain fall upon on the water.

You never called
so when they
disappear
For
Days
And return unannounced
You’re just now finding out that
there are serious cracks in your relationship.
They used you
They played with your heart
They apologize for the treatment of which you are so very undeserving
They never wanted you.

Yet you never spoke.
Never popped over with
Flowers
Nor cookies!
Never sat in your car waiting
You were out town the entire
Time.
You two did see a movie once.
That is true.

But now you’re over.
And he’s moved on.
And suggests with his absence?
that you do the same.
You can tell.

Some days your paths cross.
He stands still as Jesus
At the Hollywood Farmer’s Market.
With his wife and new baby
Or
Dog.
She looks at you with suspect eyes while you think about the tomatoes.
Someone wags their tail and hopefully they will quickly move along
en famille.
You hold your tomato plants and shudder.
You walk over to the double blossom peppermint tulips.
Tight little babies ready to unfurl.
The ones you never gave him.

A movie star died a day or two ago
She was 97.
She would to say hello to my mother
At evening musicals full of teenaged boys
that I lusted after years ago
She would wave and smile with sparkling eyes
I’d look at mother
“Why?”
Amused, she would say softly
“I don’t know!”
We would giggle together
A rare event

Mother was no chorine
nor wardrobe mistress
She did not peak in the 50s
She did not dance with her husband
under the moon at the Bel Air Bay Club
Her daughter did not write a pop song that oddly charted
She did not struggle to remain in the public’s imagination
They had nothing in common but perhaps a lovely face and a skill at survival
Mom could make her husband move her closer to Johnny on the dance floor.
Whichever direction, Dad obliged.

They locked down that school today
Warned by a rifle in a photo
Of an unstable football pro

These women are dead now
so none’s the wiser
“When you’re a victim of bullying, an option is revenge." said the alumna.
“Just a precaution,” replied the school.

Mother would have been 97 this year as well.
Maybe they’ve met again,
two streaks of illuminated emptiness
Engaging with reservations
Over fitting in and going insane
Over the low self-regard in a champion
or
Being lost at sea.

I’m an Anti-Social Socialite,
rocking new New Balances,
most of these Kids aren’t rockin’ right,
they’ve got too much ego & too few talents with,
attitudes that need adjusting,
in other words they’re not talented,
when I appear Haters disappear,
call that a Lover’s Magic Trick,

written 10 books,
and still don’t know what an adjective is,
it’s like we’re Illiterate Literary Luminaries,
walking paradoxes in a par of Croc kicks,

kinda like an Anti-Social Socialite,
or a wise man that’s lost it,
even though we both know we’re never lost,
because we’re always here and always on topic,

and you’re never late either,
because the time is always now,
and I do all these things,
even though I don’t know how,

wow,

I’m an Anti-Social Socialite,
rocking new New Balances,
most of these Kids aren’t rockin’ right,
they’ve got too much ego & too few talents with,
attitudes that need adjusting,
in other words they’re not talented,
when I appear Haters disappear,
call that a Lover’s Magic Trick…

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

new book available worldwide: 8/8/18

My favorite part of every movie was the ending kiss. It was the loudest form of love I've ever seen, fireworks exploding in the air or deep within their veins. I've fallen in love before, but it wasn't like that. It wasn't a tidal wave of lust and need. It was at its best a whisper. A tickle in my stomach and heart. Even as I become more infatuated with them, it is still but a hunch. Whoever said that your quiet love is useless, only gained their experiences through a screen.