P H I L O S O P H I A: #LetUsRoll @ricoSacto #ricoSacto @KidRock @GretchenWilson

Tuesday, November 06, 2018

MY SWEET ICE TEA, HONEYBABY

Richard Joseph Stephan · Tuesday, November 6, 2018

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eyes of sweet honeybees’ dark trash excellence aflowin’ two hundred eight bones, my godson

Wanted to be immortally mortal but that contradiction in existence could never come to be

Neither are you alive nor dead, in #Limbo just like every other living thing, oh anointed One

Retreat from the battle of eating or being eaten, burned or buried on a hill or in the blue sea.

Aw heck, red necks and wine, all but certain that the ultraviolet and infrared waves all dig me

Nine lives of the cat ain’t nothin’ but a legend, I am on my nineteenth still, waitin’ for twenty

Ice code of my ponies of Bud is pour it down the hatch, in this order, 1, 2, 3, nothin’ but fancy

Don’t say nothin’ once I’m fadin’ into a back wood of my foggy bottom bog, rockin’ ain’t free.

Horses in the carriage or under the hood only gets you to the end a bit quicker, wrinkled face

Around a track or treadmill, around and around, step by step, we’re a GD groggy human race

Rocks and Stars both below and above the pontoon or off of the shores and banks of the pond

It makes little difference to the dead men and their hands in my pockets, law’s order my son!

All we did was show our faces out of the holy darkness of our Origin, mamas’ inner sanctums

A condition of logic and reason that you arrive right here and now, up and down Sonny’s suns

I and only if you look like a loving reproduction of the mothers’ fathers, all natural selections

From the whole set in the domain, the party ends when I say so, diameter, radii and my sins.

Ultimate radio show on dead air, the last day you get to play here and now, smoke ‘em dead

All of the unheard philosophy, dusted words, phraseology all misleading, a jacked-up thread

You and I really don’t care, scared, it doesn’t really matter, there’s nowhere else to live it alive

Hombres guzzle Grapo and Tequila-lime Space’s Time drunk, I took the 5th, now I just drive.

Not driving a car or a truck, no bus or train, no airplane nor jet, mere model of skin and bone

From zygote to ancient scent of #BadSmells, like the city you were spawned from, corn pone

There were the priests and nuns, the prowlers and molesters at large, busy and side streets

Catholics and atheists mixed up into a huge spore of pre-star fodder, not ready Earthen Sun.

When the time is right, when nobody sees it coming, the forest fires will ignite the Hydrogen

Blue sky for your eyes only were only in the presence of the past, out of time without a future

Where I was and where you were just before conception and gestation, that is the question!

It ain’t my fault like William Shakespeare suggested it to be, eh? Blame it on FrancisBacon!

r j j stephan, i

c. BLOWVEMBER SIXTH, 2018 TUESDAY @ 11:11 AM PST

{ drafted while listenin’ to the The Osborne Brothers & other fodder you will

W.W.A.R.D.?