#StairwayToHeaven #OnTheWhisperingWind

FOR LOVE OF CHRISTOS’ CACHE

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Saturday, September 28, 2019

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You’ve got the back stage pass and the front row tickets to the dirigible concert tonight, HITS

From the sixties to the twenties and in between like the chocolate covered Oreo cream mints

Governed to become the extinct nature of the beast that evolved from the cavemen, the olden

Those (me) passed the power on to heirs by the Word of big mouths and pictograph scrollin’.

Artistic license painting lines on the cave walls, in living color without anything but firelight

All there ever was is everything you’ve received, of buried bones and headstones, we’ll all bite

Or nibble around the trouble hook, tryin’ not to get snagged by the artful dodger, the ‘header’

Catch and release except to eat a real meal without the dead, blood meat of cattle, elk n’ deer.

Protect yourself and survive longer than you would if you just gave in and gave up the light

It’s what the murder cells do, they kill the healthy dreamers who are fearless in the fight

Pork is the pig’s muscles that animate their world of rutting and looking out of eye balls

Light black and white, rainbow pattern distortion in a four dimensional warp, haiku awls.

On being nobody at home and all alone, it’s a ghost of a chance it looks like me or you

More like the gods you’ll never see, too much to hide inside your nutcase mind, be blue

Do not take this the wrong way but I’m really thinking that you’re as hopeless as harlots

Nothing to draw, neither pictures on the wall nor pistols from the holsters hooked idiots.

Feed the poor and eat the hungry who mingle amongst us, inside and out of this nutshell

Mind blown and body deceased, airborne spirit or soul, just an incorrigible, lead dirigible

Made of the very lead thing itself that you can trans-mutate into gold, a calculus dumbbell

Spirit, soul, consciousness of the May queen’s dream in a dream, a fade to black hole hehl.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Saturday, September 28th, 2019 A.D. @ 7:11 PM PST

{ drafted while listenin’ to #StairwayToHeaven Led Zeppelin on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/AvB5dTLvTDA }

W.W.A.R.D.?

#Battleships & #Chains

AT A MONTH OLD IN ‘51, US @WAR

RICHARD JOSEPH STEPHAN·SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 2019

Way back in 1951 A.D., heart and soul means, I was a month old on this day in September ‘51

So what? Who cares? Well now, that’s the attitude I’m lookin’ for, right here and now, bum 1

For the uncertainty of the principles you and I have been taught by the instructor cross high

Professors and preachers, even the priests of the invisible gods in the sky, all y’all gonna die.

Inside of this atmospheric bubble held together by an invisible gravitational force, my Face

I worship ground I walk on, I worship the gravity that keeps me anchored away from Space

I’ll get the Word soon enough as far as what happens when I die, when the Earth’s star novas

Like the asteroid belt surrounding Earth within this star system, can’t miss that magical bus.

Punks were like the Jets and the Sharks from a West Side Story of NY, I was immersed in blo

In another city with brothers and sisters from other mothers and fathers, minds all blown ho

I was there and so were you, one way or another, you’re beginning to get the drift, we be dead

Whispers and sayings of strangers and living lovers inside of my dream, all inside of my head.

A quick cruise to the state of being frozen-stiff solid and you’ll appreciate the spilled red wine

Just as if you’d visit a recently departed soul of a brother, sister, friend or parent, a silent sign

Becoming the essence of what you were before your folks met eyes, be there or be a square, Al

You and I can’t guess who set this system of ups and downs into motion but still, I’m magical.

The end comes naturally if there’s an origin, all of us here and now, then and there, go darks

Loss of consciousness or obliteration of the matrix which supports the consciousness’ quarks

Salutations praying to a darkness’ matter, fully non-sparkling, burnt atoms of hot collapsings

As if there’s a way to change the momentum of a Singularity’s force, hum hymms, bell rings!

Sixty-eight years these astigmatic eyes have experienced the foggy blur of Time-Space fate

Astronauts and the tiny, nearly invisible zygotes all will die in the end, mortality on a date

At the end of the day, just before or after midnight, Time stops and ends in my soft bedlam

Nights spent unconscious, under the influence of moonshine, inner and outer space Dam.

Earth catches up with the novas before anyone knows, on Ventura highway, the 1 or I-5 gates

One more silver dollar will get ya somewhere but it’ll be at night, ‘neath the desert’s darkstars

Forever and a day, in a desert or at the ocean’s beach, smell the future, full of fake news’ fates

Shared with you now, downloaded to your DNA, killer whales can’t be drivin’ fake solar cars!

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 28th, 2019 @ 3:33 AM PST

{ drafted while rockin’ to Eric Clapton #LayDownSally & HITS on youTube link @https://youtu.be/9hQqP6RNnDE }

W.W.A.R.D.?

#Quarters #TwoBitsAPiece #TheThreeStooges

IT’S MORE THAN IT APPEARS TO BE

RICHARD JOSEPH STEPHAN·FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 2019

My mama met my pop at the Club Aragon back in the hood, long time ago, we all gonna sees

Big dreams and huge pussy cats in the drama tragedies and comedies of the extinct species

In the dramatic tragedy, the comedy emerges from the vacuum inside of the holy singularity

Suppose that the mothers have all been the parents of the mother phuqurs, man, humanity.

It is either all my fault or it ain’t any of my fault at all, I’m not responsible for the First Sin

I almost drowned when I was thirteen, stuck underneath a floating godamerican raft split

Anyway, here I am fifty-five years later, I had a last breath, I couldn’t breath, altar-boy In

Comedy and Tragedy, silent gas compression and emission, act three and a finale, no exit.

Punks, addicts and statesmen who need the doctors to keep them alive, they need the pills

A sinking feeling knows nothing without a man dreaming an infinite series of window sills

Fire, water, wind and this third rock from a white dwarf, a Milky Way fantasy, oh my sound

Pickin’ fights with giant guys in local bars and megastar music concerts, winning in a round.

Utter west coast bumps and bums who sleep three abreast near the dumpsters’ geriatric bins

Just because there’s nowhere left to go once you’ve failed at being a taxpayer in paradise inns

Hookers, sisters of our mothers’ great grandfathers were in on The joke, Time-Space’s classes

One in a UFO that came alone and left alone, left the seeds of Love and Hygiene, clean-fazes.

On demanded request, knockin’ cheese off of the Alamo, well I’ll be danged, apes like it all

Everyday and most every night here under this myriad of star stuff, smokin’ a lucky strike

Hundreds of the coffin nails I’ve in and out hailed, not bein’ a fool, just being a hood’s spike

Monkey inside of me and a naked ape in a dead bull ring, it’s the same only different, p’al!

Something’s in the Way, I will it to move out of my straight and narrow path, in outta synch

Two lane highway, eight lane tollway, East to West, South to the frozen North, pole of pink

I left and was gone before she even knew I was there in the first place, I left a whiff of musk

Care or not, It is what it is but I don’t know it’s nature, essence of the Void, embedded tusk.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Friday, September 27th, 2019 A.D. @ 4:11 PM PST

*Header is the Aragon Ballroom marquee in Chicago, Illinois where mom picked up my pop!

{ Drafted listenin’ to Daryl's House Club & Anderson East doin’ #ShesGone on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/A9TFNKPHQng }

W.W.A.R.D.?

Nickelback - S.E.X. [Audio]

W.W.A.R.D.?

FUTURAMA | Season 8, Episode 3: A Deal With The Devil | SYFY

W.W.A.R.D.?

American Dad - The Rapture

W.W.A.R.D.?

Family Guy - Brian and Stewie Become Santa Claus

W.W.A.R.D.?

#MojoIsWorkin #MakinAComeBack

FORTH & BACK, BAWLIN’ INSIDE

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Thursday, September 26, 2019

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Hoarse and unable to say the word, nothing but mercy and love for the four legged big ones

Moving us all further than we’ve ever meant to go, out into the Tundra and Jungle dry runs

Paranormal and just a bit unhinged from Reality as we know it, substance of the highest bid

What’s been leftover by the supernovas and singularities, defunct since the First Cause kid.

My babies came from me and I came from a baby, grown up into the Earth and Sun, One’s

Finest smoke and gusts of pure power winds, injected into lungs for the blow of It’s guns

Aces, Kings, Queens and the Jacks of all trades, the masters of the None, Nothing’s Voids

Perusal of the opinions generated by the dead men, philosophers of continental androids.

Kicking the can for the fun of it, the game with hidden rules to stay within the realm too

Cannot go out to blow your top outside of the venue, gonads and eggs slide aside for you

It is not what it never was and everyone alive knows it, ignorant and wise, same old Us

We move in and out of the dream, forgetting the nature of the beast’s slumber, the fool!

Makin’ up the reasons for loving and hugging and kissing, it’s a survival mechanism byte

One without the end in mind, unforgiven, unforeseen and malignant beyond the montage

Brutal scales played from an A flat to a B sharp to a ZZ Top concert of rolling rock sight

Bad, evil in a sense but more like the Goodness of the essence, smokin’ back of the badge.

Mirrored image in the reflection of still water and shined glass mirrors, what to see & fast

Not just One but Many more than one, a multitude of shattered shards of subatomic blasts

Armor of skin and bone, shields high and swords drawn against the machine gun’s blow

It is love, it is charity, it is humanity, self realization that we’re dead, the herd’s gone glow.

Stallions and mares galloping through the shallows, running away from paid hungry cats

Hiding and seeking for the sake of survival, avoiding the tooth and nail shredding my fats

Muscles down the hatch, broken bones open for the marrow, it’s the life of the teeny boners

Cells of amino acid, like whiskey in a bottle, a way too high preservation, 4 cornered w#ores.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 26th, 2019 A.D. @ 4:44 PM PST

{ drafted strokin’ youtube for ZZ-TOP fine focus on LIVE https://youtu.be/-BBKOlz2SLE & Stevie Ray Vaughan LIVE Montreux, Switzerland https://youtu.be/mMTblDDqJUA }

W.W.A.R.D.?

#AsFarAsIBlowBelow

AS FAR AS I BLOW & A BYTE MORE

RICHARD JOSEPH STEPHAN·WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 2019

Perfection is in my personal repertoire, thank God for my DNA, mama and papa holy charity

For decades I have stuffed the turkeys annually for the sake of fake pilgrims’ sweet inner-city

My own love and hate is a thing itself expression of the Earth’s Wing and Fire, now we’re here

And now, the music bleeds order from every open pore of my eclectic corpus delecti fun-fear.

Catholics of Rome and beyond, Protestant protester’s and Calvinist orchard picker’s I-tunes

Dreams came true when they were false and the ones that never came to fruition, God goons

On the front end they got back loaded, high & tight like my flattop-cut above my chin’s nose

It’s so basic and technical, it is what it is, heavenly Hades, Earthbound inches and feet shoes.

Sweet and sour, delectable, even-odd roll of the bones, deadpan curves ahead makin’ me sin

Earth has no angels but they fly away from here, in due haste once a last breath is drawn zen

Visions and sounds of the blown horns, the sawed animal strings and kettle drum beaten skin

Love’s got so little to do with the explosion of gas pockets of a matrix, living life of dead men.

You wanted some shelter from the wind before you faded away but y’all yell until y’all fly-die

No disease was more than just a kiss away from your two lips and turned-up nose, eyes’ high

Angels and the demons that run the terrestrial show, expect nothing less than a holy mother

Between the sheets, on the frozen tundra, out on a limb, I knows the tree in open-sea, father.

You call it Knowledge and I call it Power to Be a survivor of this divine dream, shaboom kid

That ego won’t ever leave once it’s embedded into the flesh and bone, you’ll see how it’ll look

No sooner than much later, we all hope, immortal leaves of words’ compounded in the Book

Completely empty vacuum, no air, oxygen or hydrogen, myth risen Savior’s sorry game of Id.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 25th, 2019 A.D. @ 7:11 AM EST

{ drafted while playin’ DJ to the moron within THE bones, an eclectic blend from #Cielo #TheCrewCuts https://youtu.be/Q9G0-4TWwew #TheMcGuireSisters https://youtu.be/8ys1XYmL51A #DreamLover https://youtu.be/wVHAQX5sSaU #OhCarol https://youtu.be/4XHe6dSngt0 #BluesCousins https://youtu.be/3ctQiIPE2IA #ThePlatters https://youtu.be/3FygIKsnkCw #PeggyMarch https://youtu.be/jgPMYQTINNk }

W.W.A.R.D.?

#THINGSaIN'T...

THINGS AIN’T BROKE, GOT IT BUB?

RICHARD JOSEPH STEPHAN·TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 2019

There’s a whisker of a chance that the obelisk and an all-star are a bat and bawled out-liar

Play it cool and maybe you can choke up on your grip and maybe hit a bunt-ball sacrifice

Out to center field where nobody can throw it all the way home without a hot, infinite fire

Rounding third and on the way for the slide into the home plate, err on catcher’s thin ice.

Perfect game from the hurler and a grand slam by him to boot, won the game 4 by 2 three

All you need for a perfect game is one more out, 13th strikeout of the game, hard lot of sand

Sponsored dreamers and schemers, coaches and players, even the manager and the fans see

Nobody can beat the best there ever was in the best of five, seven, nine or a hundred grand.

What do the men do who are not only human but also divine sons of a universal creator God

No evidence in the black out of Space’s Time that there’s a man left on screens of cellphones

Here and now or then and there, past, future or right this very moment, it’s but a mega-flood

Bringin’ no tears of joy to the epitaph of yo’ mama but she flipped over her urn’s dusty-bones.

Do not bring on the finale until it’s well prepared for, ready for the ending, final curtain down

Ready for the bows to the crowd, salutes of the hands clapping together, whistles and a frown

From the bottom of their hearts, they want out #ASAP like it or not, exit to stage right below

Your guess is as good as mine, conceptual analysis of things and their perpetual soul’s blow.

I know and you know what it’s like to be all alone without a care, without a friend, battle blue

Just before the challenge of trying to survive in a hostile environment, hungry to eat old you

Whether dressed or gutted, it’s the chewing of the infinitely small to the ferocious dog or cat

Ripping the muscle-meat off the bone, raw as the living thing breathing fresh air, fly to swat.

Appearances allow no errors to formulate the equation of inequality, it’s the essence of the O

I ain’t a freak but I am a mutated genome of the original 32 genes of Homo Sapiens of blow

Tons of the cocoa leaf, chopped and pulverized into the power of powder, up a mainline rose

Compared to copulation of moments, causing animated conception, we’re light a heavy dose.

Down under or downtown MAGAlopolis, the water drains just like the Earth’s wobbling spin

Pink sky punked the blue, all of them just obscured deep, black space where mortals lips sing

Spin in a prison cell with no view, just light and air to enter for sustenance, midnight’s origin

In the corner because an ogre pointed the way and ordered the action, soon to be a blue king.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 24th, 2019 A.D. @ 8:53 PM E.S.T.

{ drafted while listenin’ to #BluesCousins #TheDream link @ https://youtu.be/3ctQiIPE2IA & https://youtu.be/HRJGVbMtzBQ now, #OpenTheDoor }

W.W.A.R.D.?

#EyesOnThePrize #SPRINGSTEEN

EYES ON THE PRIZE, FLY EAGLE 1

by

RICHARD JOSEPH STEPHAN * TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24TH, 2019 A.D.

 

Living in the smoking groove of the platinum and quicksilver musk of the holiest holes, mine

I have seven of them from head to toe and it’s what has been given to me, free of charge time

Feathers grew from DNA forces I cannot see, inside of you and me, I cannot wait to eat food

I know this is a chore for you and yours but it doesn’t matter, it’s survival of the fittest, dude!

Counting blessings one, two, three then on the way to work in the factory’s’ garage, blindmen

Left me these pains in my heart to reproduce the passion of the spark of living blood, quicken

Fast as we can, we live and die in a thimble of deep space’s sewing kit, no eyes, no needle, no

But you have the ego and Id of your mom and dad, it’s all they had, it’s all you get, now blow!

You, you, you, it’s all about you, not me or them, just the thing itself you feed with dead leaf

Seeds from the radio playin’ on the counter, volume is turned up to the loudest noise, chief

Regrets fall one by one as the final gasps are stolen from the struggle of your mama’s popper

Pickin’ the marrow out the femurs and skulls, crossbones of Davy Jones and ol’ Jolly Roger.

I had to fly away from the nest to hunt for the unwilling who just chew the grass’ of my joy

Thunder and lightening strikin’ my motherland of chopped liver and potato pancakes’ jam

Flavor of the bottom feeders’ political spectrum of ethical melodrama and fictional flimflam

Pork, beef, mutton, fowl and holy God’s dogs, waitin’ at the 7-11 store, mocha java, oh boy!

Tracks of the drag strip dug deep in a groove that even a Chevy with a .396 can’t live within

Off to the war after the twelve years of school and the finishing off the rest of the world’s jin

Magic ain’t happenin’ it’s just the nature of the beasts and the matrix of mud, middle of Oz

No wizards in back of the curtain, it’s just you, me and the Holy See, Zen and dirty ol’ lies!

Now, I gotta tell you what you’ll never read or hear from your mamas and papas, I now speak

Of mice and the men who catch them in traps full of cheese and pig bacon, one chew & a snap

Struggle until the breath ceases, movin’ the hands and feet as if you can halt the progress #Ap

Here’s a model and there’s a corpse, beauty turns on you, reflecting dirty water of one freak.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 24th, 2019 A.D. @ 00:59 PM EST

{ Produced in the shadow of the darkest night of 69 years, no stars, no moon, no sunny day or garbage in an alley, just me and my blade cuttin’ Springsteen on Broadway fusion of #Jungleland South Jersey...whisperin’#FleshAndFantasy, https://youtu.be/lW1RAYYs8RI }

W.W.A.R.D.?