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W.W.A.R.D.?

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W.W.A.R.D.?

A GEM FROM THE MUSE O' MINE on 7-7-18 #WeAreAlone

OH, AN IDIOT ARE YOU? GOD!

by

Richard Joseph Stephan·Saturday, July 7, 2018

 

Please take no offense if the shoe fits and you’re wearing it today or yesterday, OMG Eve

But you made the bed with the snake, the killer, the bite of poison, LSD apple to deceive

Eat the fruit, bite the apple, plant the seeds, grow the feed, masticate, digest and excrete

That’s life, it’s what all the people say over and over again, ad infinitum, I’m an antidote.

Being ahead of the curve and get behind the left or right wing of eco-politico cultural silk

Pills swallowed, elixir drank, powder blown-in, got a head full of clouded perception, milk

Mellowed out and full of the scat you call wisdom and knowledge, temporal void blood clots

Who cares about the SMF’ers on daytime or late night TV, cable news or Troll blogged-spots.

To have the convulsions of the nervous system in public or private, you feel a need to bleed

Learn the A to the Z to spell what you say, to write down what you mean, no reason to plead

An irrelevant time from your birth to your death becomes relevant shaming to a clever exit

Say what you found out while being alive here on Earth, stating opinions then suckling teat.

Not of mothers’ wombs but the teats of the nugatory, void of emptiness, nothing, no atoms

Intrigue the wonder, adolescence to geriatric dysfunction, watchin’ the parade to the ashes

Pretend it’s not right there, in back of you, waiting for guards to sleep, miraculous fiefdoms

Yet, there it is as it always is, within you behind your eyes above your neck, genius and bums.

You will move from here to where ever you will to go, metaphorically, your will will be hid

As above, so below the saying is said by someone who knew/guessed it was the Truth on loan

From dead philosophers, mystics, high and low priests of Cielo and Hades to my humble Id

Earth minds think and write words to be read and understood, humanity is a Divinity’s clone.

by

r j j stephan, I { yo, #Eve “...searchin’ for a heart of gold ( a miner for One ) & I’m gettin’ old...” - Neil Young }

c. Seven-Seven-2018 Saturday @ 4:44 AM PST

{ written while listenin’ to my cyber-program radio station, #RicoRockHard the link was @ https://www.iheart.com/favorites/ricorockhard-46905630/ } 

 

#OhAnIdiotAreYou 

"PURPLE ROSE OF THE VILLE"

"PURPLE ROSE OF THE VILLE"

Richard Joseph Stephan·Thursday, July 5, 2018

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It’s not all about Roseville, it is about a rare flower in the population of poppies and sativa

I still want the Cubs to win the World Series again, something’s wrong with me, ma and pa

Nothing is wrong with my body or mind it’s the thoughts I’ve had about things themselves

Nobody in particular, nobody’s mother, father, sister, brother or friend forced my will to bow.

On being backed up against a wall in a situation or two and then moving on, it’s done, it’s fine

Thing is, man I’ve become, son of my WWII swabbie dad and USO dancin’ mom’s jitterbugin’

Purple rose all alone, one of a kind immortal petals that are immune to the air’s dysfunction

Gas and protein coming from a Big Banger before I arrived, my egocentric one, selfish origin.

I had the high hopes dashed that remained after the Big Bang of the universe’s matter, blew it

All of the expectations evolved from the impossible to the highly probable, guessing a bit

Nobody but the priests believe the blind faith in the invisible presence, creator’s all-extinct

The One who made the purple rose from an empty seed, DNA spunk, drain down the sink.

A confidence man to keep the flow moving in the movies, the films, the cinema mocking life

Pretending that the celluloid means something more than Reality’s appearance to perception

Eating, wasting away to each spin of the wobbling relic of glue-like astral filth, husband’s wife

Mother Earth, Father Sun, a periwinkle-Nothing, a Void of human God’s invisible, clear skin.

Lower expections cancelled high hopes of heroes and old lemmings, speeding, decelerating it

The fact that the sky is actually no limit at all is merely what #Up looks like when snow blind

That is not a problem, like other facts ignored until the things waste away, I may be an idiot

Ain’t my fault, nothing to do with #PurpleRose genes, my faraway encounter of the 3rd Kind.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. July 5, 2018 @ 6:44 AM PST

{ written while listenin’ to witless, worthless, innane #TalkRadio on Talk 650 KSTE with the Armstrong & Getty Listeners #FullInsomnia }

 

#ONENESS @SANTANA  

 

#WTFWouldAynRandDo?  #WWARD

 

USAF Thunderbirds, "Rock or Bust" - Wonderful Aircraft

W.W.A.R.D.?

#ShakeItDown #InGodWeTrust #ItsRockOrBust

TO US, A 5th ON THE 4th, #LIBERTY

Richard Joseph Stephan·Wednesday, July 4, 201821 Reads

I was here before the American ‘natives’ occupied the motherland, the great father’s sun

Rocked steady and rolled over the land and sea, dove and climbed low while I was too high

But I found out what it was and what it is and will always be, freedom my way or the highway

Come on over to my side where only you will be, all alone without your mama or papa, son.

Before you turn the page and swipe your last happy gasp of hot air from this pea of a Cosmos

Born in Chicago like me or in the F.L.A. or SFO bay, even way down Encinada way, no mas

Pasta or a taco, in the windy city of child molesters of me, maybe you, maybe you got lucky

Maybe you were protected by a Big Brother or a Big Sister who’d die to secure your safety.

Little boys and little girls, home grown from conception to birth, 1st grade to PhD philosophy

Putting in ‘two cents’ they are allowed with the #FreeSpeech they enjoy, due to free and brave

Not words, but men and women who at least risked their lives, some gave It All, phuqin’ see?

Oh, no you don’t get it phonetically, got to spell it out, that cat’d be censored, equals a slave.

Not a martyr just a honky brother from another mother, in a honky-tonk south of El Paso

Red bandana catchin’ the sweat from the drippin’ ceiling, where senorita’s take a minute

To be or not to be, you get what you give and nobody gets anything for free, not here baby

It’s not a game but it is, @TheAction Firefox, #Freedom reigns in the R, W & B my Lady!

by

r j j stephan, i

c. July 4th, 2018 @ 7:11 AM PST

{ written while jammin’ to nothin’ special other than, well hey, #WhyCantWeBeFriends? & HITS by #WARtheBand WAR THE BAND on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/5DmYLrxR0Y8 }

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#WhenTheSunGoesDown #WellBeGroovin'

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KNOCK, KNOCK! WHO’S THERE? 
GET ALONG DOWN THE ROAD! 👃👀👂👅

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If we’re lucky enough to make it this far in life, we long for the place from which we

It may be that we were born from love or fear or accident but the bottom line, we hum

What it means to be obedient to the regulations, cut loose from pain, awesome freedom

Got the ends justifying the means in every single case, present, past and future of glee.

Stayin’ alive on top of this hardened mud, spilled blood and beer, wasted whiskey and ale

Among the buried and sunken pretenders to their mothers’ bosoms, I am the least of ‘em

Defenseless in appearance and deadly in retrograde motion, triggered by morons who fail

Not being able to predict futures, makin’ the same errors ad infinitum, way beyond the pale.

Lost being found someplace, twixt dirty core’s coral reefs up to snow-caps’ to dry sea banks

As if, this is the only time in Space that we’ll ever get, no reincarnate, heaven, hell, god dust

Historical record of Blind Faiths of fearful tribes we’ve descended from is bunk, incredulous

Liars lie and deceivers are sometimes innocent, merely lacking the facts, filling in the blanks.

Crackin’ the dreams open and awakenin’ the Ones who don’t know they’re asleep, believe It

Majority who rules believe that this world is just a place between where they’ve come n’ gone

Except for possibly a few proud, dyin’ lives of Homo Sapiens, god found out it’s a God’s song

The Way to cope with Truth, universal categorical imperative I am, that’s all, live and let die!

Only those who follow the leader are going to make it over the cliff, lemmings’ Nazi fall again

Whomever listen’s to the beat of their own drummer that nobody else can hear, One hears

Whatever it takes to be happy while walkin’ about and breathin’ air, smiling, no pain, no gain

Feeling, seeing, hearing, tasting and smelling the chemical interaction of H2, O2 and beers.

by

r j j stephan, i { Natalie Wood Actress & Legend are the ‘set of pegs’ above in the #header }

c. July 3, 2018 Tuesday @ 1:11 PM PST

{ drafted while listenin’ to #BeautifulRelaxingNatureSoundsSightsOfMamaNature youTube link @ https://youtu.be/Jll0yqdQclw }

W.W.A.R.D.?

SORE EYES EXPLODE, BEAUTIFUL!  *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You are not the image reflected in the eyes of the one you love nor are you a glass of red wine

No spice grown out of the dirt of this burned out cinder of an ash, microscopic-macro divine

Please don’t follow this to the ultimate conclusion, assume nothing and conclude, slow-blown

All greased, it’s all wet down to the soul-rubber, prophylactic, invisible six-string down song.

It comes in orgasmic simulation of a star’s death, letting loose of the star stuff into the Void

As if the macroscopic and the invisible are One and the same microscopic and invisible, a toy

Playing games with the mind and body given or the ones stolen or borrowed for a time’s boy

Home run or triple, double or single, it matters little if any that the game’s all over, android!

Necessary condition is annihilated for the sake of the abyss’ presence of , dead star river flow

Men and women, old or young trying to stay alive without being killed, gutted, cooked, eaten

Perfectly deposited in the middle of the empty circle, the solid, liquid and gas mixing reason

In the deep, dark holy place where the orgasmic frenzy lurks to coax the effulgence to blow.

Not dreaming now, never dreamed at all and I never, ever will in the future, it’s all a mirage

Nothing to see, feel, taste or hear but you can smell the odor a mile away from a holy origin

It is the scent of the dead, fish, birds, gods and men, stench of places that garbage dumps in

Paradise of the imagination, what was lost and found without a clue, just the end of my Time.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. July 2, 2018 @ 12:12 PM PDT  

{ drafted while listenin’ to my iHeart station 94.7 WLS-FM-chicago https://www.iheart.com/live/947-wls-5367/ }

 
*HAPPY 67TH ANNIVERSARY MAMA & PAPA ALFANO/STEPHAN & HAPPY 64TH BIRTHDAY TO MY ONE OF MY FABULOUS SISTERS, @JoJoDomico & here's my JoJo tribute GOOD DAYS IN 1950 & 1954 !

@Radioactive#2068


W.W.A.R.D.?

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HOT D.N.A., #AllHandsOnDeck

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If you get mad about every little thing that goes awry and become a persnickety mermaid hair

Life will be a waste of time for the likes of you, it’s supposed to be a pleasant trip, only for her

Yet it’s not, she’s not where she wants to be and that’s where ever she’s not, a tad out of reach

Angels n’ mermaids flyin’ and swimmin’ around but no happy ending, stones in a sea’s beach.

Pick a number from one to nine and then multiply it times three to the infinite degree, to see

Nothing’s left over when it all comes down to the addicts who breathe air, drink blood of me

Make movies about what they could’ve been doing if they weren’t dead and gone, outed bled

Always a thought after the fact when it’s too late to apply to a situation at hand, hindsighted.

Trippin’, workin’ for a livin’ waitin’ for the weekend, pretend like it don’t matter, just forget it

Perfect world, life on Earth is a complete story of what was and will always be, #FakenewScat

Don’t doubt me, doctors and masters, mad professors and drag queens, mutants of you & me

It’s all ‘bout revolution and orbit of this dirt ball of ash and snow, poppin’ caps, river and sea.

I used to drop to my knees when I had two but when I lost those bones, I lost the way to kneel

Before the statues left for the living to look at and pretend the dead didn’t die, pretend to feel

The bruises that stay once the pain is gone, to remind you that it will hurt again, if you let it

Conditions begin perfectly then deteriorate with the passing of moments, life froze my spit.

An act of love this is, to analyze and categorize the concepts to come up with the Golden Hole

Doing, acting like you’re the creator of this heaven and Earth and every other galaxy’s speck

Deeper than a gap in cosmic stardust, the Mariana Trench sucks you in whether high or low

208 bones glowing in the plasma, cosmic effulgence of terrestrial pablum, all hands on deck!

by

r j j stephan, i

c. July 1, 2018 Sunday @ 6:66 PM PST

{ written while listenin’ to #PhillyForgetMeNot by Daryl Hall & John Oates & Train on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/FGMDKNSQC44 }

W.W.A.R.D.?

 "IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE THE NOD"

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Used to nod off before even blinkin’ twice just because I was mellow, you were mellow yellow

If the whole world could be in black, white or in technicolor, the natural selection’d be #Hello

Just because there’s no reason for the Life being in the universe, there’s no reason for doom

A miraculous event creating something that didn’t exist moments before creation’s big boom.

Under pressure, undercover, under the bottom and over the top without a leg to stand upon

Just some words and songs about the past events and people who lived through Space-Time

Jingled liberty bells rung until cracked under the vibrations from the Mariana Trench’s fun

Putting perspective into a proper format, a bullet mystery of this skin-tight, tin-horn rhyme.

Perpetual light on the dark side of Uranus, where that burning star won’t shine, I dig that bro

Even if you’re a paperback writer or sportscaster/disc jockey/talk show host or butler for a ho

Coming to know the six days of work by the seventh day when there’s nothing to fix of create

Day of rested bones and mind overload download is required, insanity avoidance is my fate.

Rode the ticket I got at the depot, sat next to a fine looking grandma with her comfort dog

Barked and growled, snorted breath and more growling for five and half hours in flight log

Boredom or apprehension are the only two choices available, nothing more or less, our fates

To be here and now or not in Eden’s garden, Eve’s addiction to the buzzkill and blind dates.

I smoked and drank it until the gas was all gone and I burned it all down and up into smoke

Just because I could, I knew it didn’t matter in the long run, just the short one, before a toke

Over the line sweet Jesus, where the buzzing never stops because the lows need to be higher

In the blue sky, the black sky with the stars, grey skyscrapers between blood and bone scatter.

Band of gypsies left me all alone, my father called me one of them, a gypsy prince I was, I am

Chip off of the old block, livin’ off of the lake’s streets and city boulevards, I knew well, oh yes

Fortune’s a matter if and only if there is no energy independent of a cosmic principle damned

To the end of the line where we get chances to roll the bones, snake-eyes dead, never confess.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. June 30, 2018 Saturday @ 9:11 PM PST

{ drafted while listenin’ to Darius Rucker #WagonWheel & random HITS on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/hvKyBcCDOB4?t=3s }

W.W.A.R.D.?  

red, white, and blue - Lynyrd Skynyrd

W.W.A.R.D.?  #ricoSacto @ricoSacto

Lynyrd Skynyrd - Sweet Mama.wmv

W.W.A.R.D.?

Jimi Hendrix - If 6 Was 9

W.W.A.R.D.?