Form of the thing itself is invisible to the mentally ill, now you see it & now you don’t
Magic spell cast by Natural Selection of One’s accidental starburst of holy matrix font
In a swirl kind of vortex going nowhere else but everywhere possible in a vacuum slit
Got a hot mike, broadcasting moonlight from midnight to dawn’s early, hot starlight.
Funky means evil, bad blood, rancid soul & what you need to do to remain above dirt
Feelings about the nature wanting to break you down with disease & a starched shirt
A poisoned DNA & RNA gone down a drain, you are a fool or an evil genius who cares
One gorgeous George, Father of Bankrolls & Payrolls, killer gorillas bitten nightmares.
Eat hunted game, nylon netted, innocent fish all cleaned & fried, drunk on ginger ale
Funk of models & gym rats who killed the living & ate the dead meat in Time’s Space
Copy of original signals at the traffic stop signs, word or flashing yellow, green or red
All outside of the atmosphere, out your mind and body, soul shines until you’re dead.
Pork & beef, what the forms come down to before they digest into the dung of angels
Put in the matter that turns fecal and gets flushed into the outhouses, far, far away too
Out of sight & downwind from the perpetual ivory towers built above the mud & blood
Here’s a clue, it’s no secret, know Nothing & you glean the Truth, I ain’t in the GD Mood.
Six senses to perceive this seafoam production, life on Earth is all of it within the plants
Animals are a byproduct of the evolution of eating & defecating the Live Art & Dead Ids
Fried potatoes, burnt marshmallows, froze bananas, come on man, we got to be better
Monkeys in apelike repetition of their ancestral DNA/RNA of cellular dysfunction butter.
Fear, loathing, love and reproduction of the germs to be or not to be, licensed her drive
From sixteen to seventy-six, it’s cool to be loved and hated, it’s better than an alternative
Girls make a boy crazy, without being crazy you are sanely insane as the rest of it is Fake
Stupid, idiotic, as I am so you are, wake up the #Woke, shake it up, come on now, Shake!
Apocalyptic just like every other day in the past and all in the future, it’s over easy, sonny
You keeled over about one second after I exposed you to the Truth, sweet as bee’s honey
Taverns on every corner, my corner, your corner, every block, every mile west to the lake
Fishy stockyard stench, windy city Chicago Indian bad smelt’s alewife word-up, ain’t fake!
Buns have meat in between their surfaces, there we’ve smeared pickles & fairy’s tall tales
Hairy legs get cut off at the knees, there’s no way to walk around or run around with Sue
She wouldn’t quite come with me when the time was right, it was always my happy trails
I followed the middle path, never fell, got to the end, rang the bell, it was two Hell’s bells.
Woke up, got #Woke, awakened the sleeping giant who would crush the unseen midgets
Too small to see or hear, couldn’t have dialogue with the invisible dots, only one way to go
Which way is up, it’s not down or sideways therefore it’s the only way left to test gadgets
Library deleted, erased, disappeared into dead air, in the trunk’s a spare & I’ve gotta blow.
You believe the cape and cowl have a presence underneath It, yet you’re deceived in funk
Freaks and the compliant followers of the gods and devils of mankind, rule this slam dunk
Bills paid, gold melted down into a lead metal of heavy hitters, rolled, smoked, coughed up
Harm & aid to families, extinction is immanent using fear & loathing of burnt leaf THC 7up.
There’s no doubt about it, there’s not going to be a debate with the pros & cons of Matrix
Wish and intent to cause the good to be and the evil to not be as ugly as the central dicks
Voted in or killing the opposing heads of states, command & demand obedience, my spell
Thru capillaries’ slip-stream of 1’s & 0’s illogical, subatomic Funk in Hell? Loaded, oh Lord!
Pumps up the cold water & hot air, into a sewer of the dead and gone matter, I am the blood
Fished the thoughts in the sea of the mind with bait, caught my limit under a hoodoos hood
Culture glory ride, here in this outerspace spun top so that the One gets too dizzy to be The One
Covered-up zero, two, four, then eight, mathematical progress all ENDS, I’m Adam’s dead son!
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Mercredi, 4-26-2023 Anno Domini @ 1111 AMPST
{ Jammed to the VIBRATIONS of the Mighty @Temptations https://youtu.be/U3z5NKskK60 }
F I N I S
W.W.A.R.D.?
W.W.A.R.D.?
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