WORST DEATH EVER, DON'T JUMP!
Monks and genii provide the matrix for the acts that move toward inevitable, fake wig hair
Always was and will be the only thing that is, itself everything, so, not a thing in particular
Amazing and less than final, the End is when the curtain falls and I turn into a holy wraith
Then eyes wide open without seeing anything should be the leftover con of a blinded faith.
To believe in what the pious and enculturated members of the whole shebang sing & shout
That's right to be or not to be on the left or in the nucleus' tabernacle of the Void, girl scout
I mean the cookies, not the actual little sisters & now mothers who raised us know the score
We came swaddled in terrycloth to be blinded by spotlights and hot incubator intel simulator.
That is what I know, not much, little more than nothing at all but it could be worse, in spades
Fat Violet used us all from the day we got let loose from the schools' professorial nuns' fade
Teaching us that we're all animals but we pretend we're not, just means we're animate the gown
Of bones and muscles keepin' the wisdom and knowledge to lie like a rug until you lay down.
Jerkin' the chains gettin' some Lincolns and Benjamins to let them take a fifth while slam One
A fifth or more every week and my liver started being a place for the pain and suffering of fun
In the dream when the gorillas mobbed your front and back doors, you screamed for your pops
He came in thinking I was being kidnapped by the bogeyman, it was only my imaginary props.
Mobs rule the yard sticks for miles of piles that used to stank, a wet @Pampers baby food scam
Changing the pampered hind ends as if it's my job, everybody avoided the scent of holy stinkers
Bread brought home from the blood, sweat and tears that flowed down from volcanic eruptors
In and out of the drop zone of misery, with or without you being the form of the matter, I Am.
Finally a reprieve at a musical orchestration of the minutia in and out of my head, out your mind
Minced meat and the things that make up the minions who live in dark caves' artificial stop sign
Apes mimicking the party and the ending of the beginning, just before the fall to sleep, I'll sing
Shining the shoes in the corner bar for a few pennies, a nickel, a dime or a buck, not my thing.
Morphed the 208 bones into the ash thrown into the sea with the rest of the liquid gas, God H2O
Where we come from and without which we don't have a clue how to survive, empty space's hole
Nobody goes there and if they do, there's no reincarnation to come back, it's One and you're done
Frontman and the backup keep it all in the middle where the love and glory pretend, This is fun!
Remember what your mama told you to do when you meet stranger? Run fast, run deep patterns
Only the physical, mental & the psychic, can roll the rocks around in the dark without lanterns
Random collisions for no reason at all other than just because, it thinks y'all are so very pretty
Not only is this a valid deductive argument but also it is the Truth, if and only if you're chitty.
Pure silk and emptiness in a Big Idea, slips the Superego and the Id into up-down Time in Space
On the surface, in the air or underground down to the core, the center of all there is, mom's face
All the baby can see is mama, all mama can do is hope the baby will grow up and go far away
From the danger that awaits around every bend of the road, every corner of a block's gangway.
At night, darkness rules the brave and the bold who hide behind locked doors and bolted windows
Mighty bold when you think someone's got your back until you find out the Truth, to be or not be
Grown older than a hundred trips around the sun and the younger ones have all been dead and gone
All alone in the dream's conflagration, talkin' about somebody who doesn't care 'bout a new i-phone.
On the points where the sharp one's will jab you until you cut them off, you need them to conclude
That premises of any argument are mere assumptions & not absolutely true beyond logic's doubt, um
One more chance, just one more and that will be all this time, it's the End of the millennia, #GetBack
Shots fired without cannons or rifles, dead in a dream's kaboom! All agog, my head's like All Black.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Sunday, Blovember 29th, 2020 Anno Domini @ 6:66 PM PST
{ Drafted while listenin' to @EricChurch #HITS on youTube links it up @ https://youtu.be/usGv0gB2zEU }
FINIS
W.W.A.R.D.?
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