#WhyGiveUpTheSMOKE #WastedTime

WHO CAN TELL ?  NOBODY KNOWS...

Fathers of mothers, heartless cheaters of innocent, wild children shuffling up to Buffalo & 10th Avenues
Or was that on east Chi Rush Street, between the roaring twenties and the beatnik snap or hippy blues
Ain’t ever casting’ aspersions at myself nor my generation’s culture they were thrust into a willing skit
To be or never to have been at all, the caring metabolism wanted to be consciously aware of caput chit.

Used up my tokens’ future dreams comin’ true before my body’s demise, won’t be my fault, ready to roll
Fire in the hole, take cover, not only your heads but also your allies, nobody wants hits between the eyes
Falcons & bald eagles were here before the DNA of cave man & woman, no need to get outraged, punk
All self-defense with a swoosh of retaliatory terminal blows in a traditional offensive, lucky I got the funk.

Winds from Earth’s South Pole wobbling simultaneous with choice, liberty blow jobs, precession of One
Matilda and Priscilla became nuns and then philosophers of the metaphysical world’s matrix and lexicon
Whether you’re born immaculately conceived or filled with a byte of DNA’s spermatozoon ova mutation
Yielding this here and now, Time in Space, left over by your daddy, known or not, it was your ticket, Sun.

Family ties between the eyes, right now at 11:11 Pacific Standard motion of Earth’s spinnin’ twist of dirt
Water mix of hydrogen & oxygen produce this liberty and the rest of the good, evil & ugly Nugatory hurt
Few and far between the believers in blind faith and the intelligentsia elite, there are those idiot savants
Mixed in with the brothers and sisters who see faces, skin & bone structure, head to toe asexual saints.

Lightened up the darkness in that closet, clear light at the golden dawn of Truth, reason for a good fight
For freedom, independence, total segregation from the negative, immersed in the positive, cosmic light
Once upon a Time, Space was full of conceived germs, eggs, sperms makin’ minds, fingers, dead sea sand
Sealed it all with a kiss in a fable, a garden nobody saw but somebody fantasized the fabulous neverland.

Began awakening being so woke in a singular desire to procreate the species with a lover who’d roll over
Permeating the membrane holding your momentum back behind the brick wall you built for the quiver
Organ of First Cause before the Word was made flesh, a single cell before the evolution, married to ‘ex’
Unknown, pragmatic knowledge formed into word sounds of foreign tongues of any species, all AOK sex.

Far away from this place in Space, analyze that concept & you’ll find Nothing special delivery, need time
Twisting and smoking only because the Earth’s wobbling around the ecliptic, so I’m told, I believe it too
Found your little note you left on the stove, “Don’t wait up for me tonight…” signed it “ME” as if I knew
Slowin’ down the day before the evening light disappears into nowhere I’m goin’, joke is droppin’ a dime.

Inside a high security prison with the winner’s cup shinin’ in the darkness, corner of groove & black cow
Confined inside the cubic meter or three, punishment for being king the wind of the law’s isolation love
Tough way to find out the repercussions of not following the commands of the cultural peasant above
Fear nothing if you loathe everything above and beyond the plane of existence, I call, here & hot now.

Ground up all of the animal’s skin and bone into a hot burger with melted cow’s teat milk, I, burger king
No royal flush queens anywhere in sight, ran off with diamonds & hearts, lap dancin’ in clubs for spades
High as you would want your daughter & sister to be as she works her body into the mortgage on Malibu
For the love of all that cash money can buy, LOVE’s a four-letter word, low frequency debit, cash out cue.

Bees, ants, worms, flies, first things seen by a child-like person on the narrow way to Nirvana’s isolation
An Italian leather sofa is both soft and as black as the night of Space in back of the Earth’s penumbra sin
Shadows just the things of Nothing at all, explain the explanation and you’ll be cookin’ & playin’ my tune
Could be a trumpet horn, bass and treble guitar strings, stretched animal skin & steel cymbals, king rune.

Long or short year, it’s still twelve months of 24/7 & f you’re not so lucky, you didn’t make it, RIP to y’all
Friends, foes, relatives & strangers scattered on the seen continents, soon to be buried 6 deep or not at all
Could be just a waking dream & when you die there’ll be nothing you can do, itch scratches itself bloody
Only then we’ll all know, it’s a supernatural thing that needed to feel the mortality’s dead, good, ready.

by

r j j   stephan, I  

c.  XII-XXX-MMXXIII Anno Domini @ 1212 PMPST

{ Crafted this carafe of fungi while jammin’ to @Lenny_Kravitz #AreYouGonnaGoMyWay on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/8LhCd1W2V0Q?si=g3PJfazOWj_QY5jc }