BE A BUBBLE, SCREAM TROUBLE *
In athletic cups I can drink about a gallon and a half, shame me in a trough of bloody punch
Grim nights ahead for those who downed more than three, Hell’s froze and you better jump
Back to your crib or your home or wherever you know you’re safe from the big bad oil pump
All of us just regular people that your paranoia dissolves into your pea brain, Captain Crunch.
What I love and what you love may be either one and the same or diametrically opposite too
Fun and games rupture the matrix and stop the serious mode from consuming the sky’s blue
No there’s nothing like being right all of the time, only because you never admit to knowledge
To know something is to have wisdom & wisdom’s knowing Nothing intimately for a reason.
They live around the US, we ain’t them but we paid to wash their Marxists Comrades’ come in
Now we or at least some of us seem surprised of the outcome of our K-12 system of idiot furs
Carried all over every cell of every human, head to toe, hair on top of every piece of dead skin.
Time and Space merge to cause the explosion that ignited the Big Bang’s essence and nature
Mother or father in charge of nothing at all in the accident beneath and all around us all, Ur
A mythical story at the end of the Platonic Republic, relies on a reader sticking to bitter ends
From a long way off, first Nothing then something peculiar on the way to wet diaper depends.
Punks on Babylon’s crossroads, eatin’ Cony Island or the Jersey Shore, out on the boardwalk
Plastic explosives and steel beams turn into liquid pig iron, all fall down like London’s epoch
Suppertime after all things that passed for reality swallows if you’re rich for Ends & free dope
Inside a snitchin’ room, dirty rats’ kid, ear sliced off clean, bloody Picasso’s noose is the rope.
Why girls get pregnant is no mystery, just to procreate the species genome here and now then
In any case, we all gonna go because our dad’s and mom’s made us come, back to a plethora
Of mice and men who came and went before we were even thought of, our turn’s bitter ends
You and I cling to guns and souls, hopin’ we don’t lose consciousness’ at death, a mind bends.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Tuesday, September 15th, 2020 A.D. @ 2:22 PM PST
{ Drafted listenin’ to #SimpleMan & hits by Creedence Clearwater Revival #HeardItThroughTheGrapevine link @ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jCfUxn2VMT8 }
FINIS
"The Scream (1893) was painted by Norwegian artist @EdvardMunch at the end of the nineteenth century during a unique transitional period in history, often referred to as the fin de siècle. Prior to this time, artists were interested in painting their subjects as objectively as possible, as commercial success was often measured by technical skill in the days before cameras and photography were popular. By the end of the nineteenth century, brave and forward-thinking painters like Edvard Munch were less interested in showing off their technical skills and more inclined to use their art to express inner thoughts, feelings and emotions instead, often by painting with bright, exaggerated colors and simple shapes. Though reviled by art critics and considered too radical in their time, artists like Munch and even Vincent Van Gogh set the scene for Expressionism and the even more progressive modern art movements of the twentieth century."
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