Mumok Museum [24]

What am I doing in Vienna,
staring at cold sterile pop art as the whole entire world we're on burns,
in a city I never wanted to go to,
doing things that never really seemed that inspiring,

& it's not that I have an antipathetic attitude towards these pathetic fools,
in fact it's actually just the opposite of that because I'm an actual optimist,
which is why I don't feel inspired by bored cyborgs their wires or their tools,
& precisely why I'd rather gather flowers than be an actor for their power,

see I find more inspiration in a single leaf on a single tree by a river bank,
than from all the colors & lines contained within the walls of this museum,
which is why when I'm asked all the time what kind of poetry I read,
I reply I don't even read poetry see I don't find it in books I find it in seasons,

It's the same reason I don't need to go to church to pray,
because I don't need my messages from God to be translated by a human,

anyways where am I at & what am I doing?

Oh yeah Im at a museum in Vienna wondering where the inspirations gone,
& why everything seems so excruciatingly tiring,
see it seems we’re on the verge of a collective mental breakdown,
at the same time like we're on the precipice of a collective enlightening,

either way the system’s short circuiting & could do with some rewiring.

Why does every rags to riches story I know of those that've made it,
end in an overpriced designer outfit at home bored all alone & jaded?

Why is Consumerism followed like a religion,
I mean we're all made of the same DNA strands regardless of name brands,
I mean everything is just carbon hydrogen & oxygen anyways,
which may explain why materialism is immanent in every independent man,

while an apocalypse seems undeniably immanent &,
we dwell in the highest heights ever built still we don't totally understand,

we don’t worship Jesus we worship Visa,
putting good credit ahead of good morals,
don’t praise Muhammed in a daze we say our grace in front of TV Dramas,
no Buddha dreams just computers screens no real friends just PayPals,

& maybe that’s why it's easier to be blind than to see,
maybe that’s why we hide in museums behind Valentino sunglasses,
because we'd rather have expense tastes than be free,
but when you’re behind any type of four walls you’re trapped in,
whether on a Penthouse terrace with Paris in Paris,
or doing hard-time for white collar crimes with Madoff in a Federal pen,
either way we’re victims of our own additions trying to buy more time,
but running out of credit as banks are collapsing & the recession is relapsing,

so why even buy things when we know not so secretly,
that only Love will set us free from these retro restrictions & their trappings,

see,

the best things in life still are still free,
& yeah liberation is expensive & self renovations are extensive,
but freedom is priceless so live a life that's righteous,
seems that the Love Pyramid is the only pyramid that’s not a Ponzi scheme,

because we are all equal even if we’re not all treated equally,
that’s why some have no clothes while others wear designer denim jeans,
but these Diesels're 2 tight on my thighs this macabre carnival has no prize,
& I can do anything I want with my life but all I really want to do is breathe,

breathe,

breathe because this lifestyle is expensive,
but freedom is priceless,
even though they'll try to capitalize off of anything,
so they market it & try to price it,

I just,
want to find a place to relax & release,
& be free of all of this,
find true love & say “Fck off to the politicians & all their politics!”,

fck their programs fck their projects,
fck their ugly agendas dressed in artificially splendid splendor,
fck their quotas & their motives for treating human beings as objects,
fck their pre-programed consumerist culture of conmen capitalists,

fck there putting machines over human beings,
just to increase the place where their profit sits,
& I say all of this regardless of who it offends because I'm not an Apologist,
I'm more of a Lyrical Pharmacist,
who serves indiscriminate prescriptions in the form of transcriptions,
in order to assist in the additions that come from positive developments,
which will occur for sure once we switch the position we currently sit in,
& restore Divine Order once more in the name of Humankind's betterment,

in the game of life I play,
they know I'm so official that I don't even need a Letterman,

I just,
don’t know what else to say,
I don’t know why I’m at this museum in Vienna,
hiding away on the top floor writing this to you on a Sunday,

on the 5th floor got it all but I just want to give more,
I just want to gift these words then make my escape,
don't you get it I don't want to get more ****t,
if anything I just want to find a way to give more of what I have away,

just want to be alone,
but also want these words to be known so the truth can be shown,
but where do you go when you’re tired totally over it all,
& all you want to do is rest & write these poems,
but even with all you have you still don't know where to go,
because even with all these things you still don't have a home...

Hello,
could you please pick up the phone,
I’m calling because I still love you,
& I want to come back to you even though I know I’m already gone,

currently on the top floor of the Mumok museum in Vienna,
the floor is the 5th to be exact,
& yeah it’s true that I don’t know where I’m going,
but what I do know is I don’t think I’m ever coming back,

online & off track,
writing more words with more rhymes,
than any other living writer in contemporary times,
& no I'm not lying 'cause I'd never lie to you & yes those are both actual facts,

& yeah that’s a fact & yeah you can Google that,
but I’m going to follow that fact with a question,
before I forget to mention,
let me just ask you what I'm doing here in Vienna?



What am I doing in Vienna,
staring at cold sterile pop art as the whole entire world we're on burns,
in a city I never wanted to go to,
doing things that never really seemed that inspiring,

& it's not that I have an antipathetic attitude towards these pathetic fools,
in fact it's actually just the opposite of that because I'm an actual optimist,
which is why I don't feel inspired by bored cyborgs their wires or their tools,
& precisely why I'd rather gather flowers than be an actor for their power,

see I find more inspiration in a single leaf on a single tree by a river bank,
than from all the colors & lines contained within the walls of this museum,
which is why when I'm asked all the time what kind of poetry I read,
I reply I don't even read poetry see I don't find it in books I find it in seasons,

It's the same reason I don't need to go to church to pray,
because I don't need my messages from God to be translated by a human,

anyways where am I at & what am I doing?

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

from The Holy Trilogy Vol. 2: Mandalas
available worldwide 08/08/18

Have you ever felt like you were only accidental paint strokes on a canvas?
Just an some indesirable smudge in the corner of some work that would be great if it didn't have the blemish.
Didn’t have the Mistake.
Or a broken masterpiece disaster of a painting, that sits in the back corner of a dusty old museum storage room.

you painted me like a beautiful picture:

one with our future ahead of us,
one with both of us laughing.

there were strokes of anger
of pain,
of our fights,
but looking at it now,
the aggressiveness of your brush
definitely highlighted the beauty
of the painting:

it showed
the wrinkles of our face when we smile,
the creases of your clothes forming lines towards my arms holding you close,
the light in your eyes when you look at me — as if the world meant to me and i was the only who deserve it.

however,
you left me in a single room.
i thought maybe, i was that special.
that i was one of — or better yet your greatest masterpiece.

as you smiled,
i felt happy.
i thought maybe this was it.
a painting you’re so proud to show the world.

you crept towards the door
went for the switch and turned the lights off.

and just like that, i waited for months
for the lights to go back on.

i knew in my heart,
that this beautiful painting i thought was your masterpiece,
became one of your hidden collections,
that only you could exclusively see.

just like what you did,
to the others before me.

A maverick personality with

a bohemian style of dressing.

A flowing beard and a hat worn obliquely.

He was a painter par excellence,

exhibiting his piece de resistance.

His painting was to any eye a treat

but a part of it was left incomplete.

Left inadvertently or maybe intentionally.

My curiosity got the better of me

and prompted me to inquire brusquely.

The artist answered rather politely,

“I leave it incomplete to stay away from conceit.

To avoid being coloured with it vainly.

And prevent my ego from craving more than what my skill can achieve.

The incomplete painting now made sense to me as I continued to  marvel at his masterpiece.

“Oh God, You're a poet
And I, I was Your blank page,
Rather the blank page of a poet,
Than the blank page of man

Rather the blank page of someone who already envisioned me as a masterpiece,
Than the blank page of man

Yes, even before He poured out His ink heart on me,
He saw me, with all the hidden words that were scribbled across me
All the fears, hopes, dreams and wishes inked so wildly
Oh man, I was His pièce de résistance

Last night I was staring at this blank page,
But little did I know that it was staring at me,
Waiting for me to turn it into a written work of art
And just then I realized, I was staring at my reflection

This revelation brought clarity to every blank page on Earth
Oh God, we are Your work of art” - Demi.M Potts

I am a masterpiece
beautifully crafted by you
I am a canvas of bliss
painted in a vibrant hue.
Yet you never admired me
instead, you ignored the beauty within
how cruel is my destiny
the end of me is about to begin.
You disheveled my peace
I pleaded but there was no sound
slowly, piece by piece
I fell on the hard ground.
Soon, I will feel no pain
for the strong me is now awake
one day, I shall stand again
and by then, I'll be a wonderful mosaic.