#ricoSacto

Wednesday, January 22, 2020

#SheCallsMeGrumpy #SheKnowsItWell #EverythingIsEverything


POLTERGEIST FOR ALL, MACH 2020
by
Richard Joseph Stephan · Wednesday, January 22, 2020
-------------------   JAZZ LIKE THIS GROWS ON TREES  -------------------
It is exactly what it is and the only way it always will be, nobody above you anywhere in sight
I’m the one who watches over your being’s liberty and ability to facilitate your will’s might
Functions of the calculus require the incomprehensible substitutions for abstract concepts
Nothing that can ever be repeated in an experiment to verify deduced theorems’ of the inept.

It’s not that you’re absolutely devoid of the ability to think rationally, it’s just that you’re, aho
What that means is that you’re conscious yet in synchronistic fluctuation with the scale of Do
Songs sung, music played, voice, wind, twang or pound things themselves, form of the shape
Bones’ cellular configuration the piece de resistance of the evolutionary product of God vape.

Smoke on the water, above or below the water, in space above and below the rocky birth zone
Where all of our mothers lived, will die and have died for centuries, for the sake of a maroon
Where I am, here on this seat in this place in space without a ship, grounded in white sands
Out in the desert near the oasis right there in the middle of nowhere, holy Geist turned Man.

Nothing to do in purposeless existences, for the matter is starstuff on the way to be overdone
Beyond you & I, where only archangels go, past an Event Horizon’s sacred Singularity’s dome
No hurry from conception to dissolution of form and substance, on the backstretch to home
Interruption of a ghostly recollection, a memory that hadn’t happened yet, just havin’ fun.

Godfathers know their offspring and from where they’ve come, a holy IBM computer patch
Either it’s a metaphysical anomaly, this miracle of being alive in a bone, stone twilight zone
It appears immortality is possible but improbable for an entropic left over, a black hole sun
Godmothers and godfathers’ gods passed a dirty word, mouth to mouth, the work of Scratch.

Pole to pole around the entire seven seas and continents, the struggle moves on to the finale
Where it all began it will end or it won’t, at least not exactly but it will end for certain, I see
Beyond the obvious lighted objects and the relationship with the matrix we share, young me
Now old me, little old me, recollecting POTUS from Maine to Tennessee, holy ghost! T2020.

by
r j j stephan, i
c. Wednesday, January 22nd, 2020 A.D. @ 4:44 PM PST
{ Crushed this out today while listenin’ to Bill Evans #LiveInSwitzerland1975 on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/OWqnOlDIFYM }
FINIS
W.W.A.R.D.?

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