#WashYourHands #Suppertime #StayAwayFromMeAlways @JonnyLang

DAMMED SKIPPY, HER NAME’S SHE

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Saturday, June 6, 2020

------------- #SticksAndStones #BreakMyBones -------------

Candy apple red is the shifty shade of what I look like when I’m strapped in her inner chassis

Lucky to pay cash and have no payments, insurance is two car payments per month, in stasis

Balanced with a low platform, steering like a dream straight and on Dead Man curves for two

Holy cows nightime barbeque, bones and muscles bound, cut into a T bone, a slice of the fool.

A dream within a dream of beating up looters and stealing the loot back for the owner’s soul

Perfect recollection of the past hundred years, over 30,000 days and nights to throw the roll

Little Pinky and Big Punky own the whole shebang, lock, stock and barrel for the love of Deus

In a holy word, a byte of nomenclature signifying the essential element of all too human dust.

Without a word to the wise, there is a private thought to the idiot, I think therefore I ain’t one

Now, for God’s sake, in the name of the holy ghosts who haunt chambers and vaults of no fun

Alert and awake to the seeds in the soil that will be watered and pressured before Time’s up

Imperative command from logic and reason of Earth minions, special creation accident cup.

Here is a #Struggle but not #TheStruggle because of the bleach of the accidental R/DNA load

White teabags leaching the dormant potential and capability of the mixed and a blended blow

How you sow, so shall you reap and what you see will be what you get, the plastic lava flowed

Grey men and women blending civilizations away from Key Largo and Montego to a Kokomo.

Bold as I ever wanted to be when I was perfectly One, an egg without a spermatozoon flagella

Wandering in the void of the womb coming down from where the mother of my true platform

Not the two or the trinity, no quad or gang of cinqo de mayo, an April fool in a perfect storm

Breeze of the coolness and the blistering warmth coming and going with a southern flotilla.

It’s cherry red for certain but underneath the hard, painted candy apple red’s forbidden fruit

Confronted with dualism of you and I, I always win and you don’t, unless I say so, “It is done”

Nothing more nor less to debate with syllogistic deduction than a star’s birth, a son of a gun

Miracle of the cause and effect without an origin, born to play Spades, kiss my diamond boot.

It’s for you to pity the fools ‘cause I have absolutely none for them, they’re alright bein’ blind

After the freaking living’s all gone, you’ll know It, Unknown, Cherokee nation’s hell’s kitchen

Imagine this, lightening strikes you in the face between the eyes, blinds the ocular nerve head

Left in the dust, #LetsRide down to a Singularity-Self, a right angle back to no return semen.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Samedhi, 6-6-20 @ 9:11 AM PST

{ Drafted in a gaelstorm of WORD while listenin’ to @StevieWinwood #RollWithIt link @ https://youtu.be/u_vkKozA8OI#TODAY }

FINIS

W.W.A.R.D.?

#GoldenEaring #WickedGoneDoneItAgain #ComeOverForALittleWhile #Mariah

3RD OF JUNE TO BUG YOU TOO!

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Thursday, June 4, 2020

----------------- #StayTheNight ------------------

 

Compared to my skepticism, I see that the #BlindFaith in the comedy & tragedy is being alive

With a trip of a walk toward the church, you have separated blind eyes from what you believe

Emergency of the creepy crawling, incompetent human beings who’ve take over for retirees

All that’s left, this is their best, the only ones they’ve got, wait! What? Bad guys are no good?

When it was the 3rd of June last year, I retired, or was that the year before, be that as it may

Now and then you think about your last tick tock of the heart, last gasp of gas, corpus dilecti

Why? It’s not my fault that it’s a creation beyond my pay-grade, it takes me 9 months to bake

But once the buns are out of the oven, my karma pledges to even it all up, a jump in the lake.

Rockets going above and beyond the dead air, getting to Nothing about eight miles high, fly!

No way to get it right because the inferiority of the bones is the the color of skin, but the high

On the food and the glue, the rocks that rolled down from the volcano's of Earth’s holy blow

Snowtops to the core of dry wetness, fire in the center of nowhere keepin’ the heat hot, bro!

What else do you got? Nothing but the same philosophical word jaundice from the red blues

It’s got the ignorant aliens from another planet, posing as our children, pretending brothers

Little sisters who are obedient to their elder male bulls who have become mutant RNA seeds

They look in the mirror and see nothing but a smile of sacred satan, bottomfeeder of Hades.

On the way to suicide-watch in a straight jacket, in the ankle cuffs and chained to my pains

What I did, what I do, you have no idea what’s in my mind, how I see or record royal reigns

Queens, kings, princesses, princes are all too human, mortal like the rest, no grim reaping

Just one of the many, just like all of the rest, you say something, you will pay for the thing.

All lives matter to God but they can’t be the same to a woman, a queen but we’ll eat a cow

Like it should be, you get the bills, you pay the bills, they keep comin’ you keep payin’ ‘em

Like Godzilla, it’s huge and kind of a monster in the room, you’ve got to deal with it now

Performing the acts of contrition for the Twenty-First Reich, just because, I say phuq ‘em.

Comin’ for the alien anarchists who did not learn their ABC’s in America’s grammar & highs

Or did they really all just sniff glue for their senior proms for the last twenty years? Maybe so

On the other hand, it may just be the historical folly of humanity, pretend you’re more blow

Less than the atomic substratum of slime, a soul fails in the the Supernova, lords of the flies!

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Thursday, June 4th, 2020 A.D. @ 2:22 PM PST

{ Jam out my dirty face to #RadarLove infinite loop link @ https://youtu.be/11Lj75cjg44 }

FINIS

W.W.A.R.D.?

Dallas Police body cameras show moment Tony Timpa stopped breathing

W.W.A.R.D.?

#SeeSomethingDoSomething *Suspicious Man Breaks Window & Starts Minneapolis Riots

...the Origin of the Riot in Minneapolis
now...

W.W.A.R.D.?

#FakeNews #RealOld #GreenAndRedMakeBlue @ZZTop @WARTheBand

ZZZ & THE BOTTOM OF THE TOPS

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Sunday, May 31, 2020

---------------  #Stop no #Go --------------

It’s going to be just fine, there is a reason for the good, the bad and the ugly, logic is the rule

It’s a behavior judgement call and in the end, a judgement of the beautiful and ugly feud duel

Human and divine genes may or may not have recombined in any significant way, wild guess

Probably nothing to do with any being above or below this planet’s rocks and mud, I confess.

Like I tried to say about a millions times for the last couple thousand years, we’re here alone

There is no creator dog or god up above to pray to, the facts are either we’re forsaken or lucky

To be or not to be are super questions but the last one is, “Where we going in a spirit body?”

Fire & ice can’t hurt this Soul, if it exists at all, it’s the essence of cold ice in a dream’s mirage.

Pumping the fuel into the vacuum until the pressure is released by spontaneous combustions

Of the lint, molecular gas in forms that float like ash, compressed rocks, bones & cold blood

Go from conception origins into decedent finality in a wink or a few decades of a moon’s son

Ripped out the matrix of a Big Bang or a Singularity’s infinite stretch, man is but one & done.

Of course, there’s still the complete circle of the cycle of existence, not here, nevermore there

Sisters and brothers of the orphanage have a handle on it, the kids of mom’s & pop’s long hair

Taught to obey the rules and laws which are, live and be good, thrive and strive until the end

Never thinking about that last gasp, until the Time arrives, too late to be as we were destined.

There is therefore no issue regarding the nature of being and where I am going to find love?

You worry is that you have nothing but a leap to judgement blind faith in a governor’s deer

A herd of failed and scared does and lame bucks that can only follow a propped up tail leader

Without that purpose in this dirt, existence is futile, as the borg has foretold, silence! Move!

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Sunday, May 31st, 2020 Anno Domini @ 11:11 AM PST

{ Drafted while listenin’ to WAR THE BAND #ThatsWhatLoveWillDo & full CD link @ https://youtu.be/IfNc10RGEEA }

FINIS 

W.W.A.R.D.?