IT’S ALL SPINNING TIME & SPACE,
THINK WITCHCRAFT OR YOU WON’T SURVIVE
All a Gog is where it’s been for generations of subatomic particle fusion & you got me?
That dry dream you had last night was the dream that faded to black for the last screed
The wrap of the film is in the can, absorbing the immersion of the hope-dream of a blog
All or most of the little bits that are leftovers from the Big Bang return to the Alpha cog.
Area is the full length of the empty form times the width of the flip side of the empty form
Pretend you know it all, as your teachers trained you that way, hook up a squirmin’ worm
Full of all scat whipped up from cream of the crop, y’all seem full of its aggressive entities
Miss Takes has it all under control, nothing escapes the idiots & morons full of hot CBDs.
I know where you’re comin’ from, same time and place I’m from, the neighborhood of God
Everything single atom conglomerated into a voice of Empty-Void denizens, a red, hot bod
Complexity of the memory before your conception is the history of the animals’ blood guts
From absolutely nothing but a sheer ghost, sounds and sights suck into your bloody buts.
Kicked the mule in the head just like the idiot and moron got kicked by random intercourse
Phraseology begins with subjective objections, cliche predication to summon a cool nurse
Together or separated at the original breath of whirling, speed of the revolving door kills me
First your toe, then your foot and your whole leg up to your hips cut off like a slice of salami.
Woke up, the dream faded to a recollection I can’t recall, senseless memory in utero holes
Why did the parents need to copulate? They were forced like ants & bees, RNA coded souls
High or low, above or below the things themselves, forms and matter fused into a low dose
Of glee and destitute hopelessness, nothing is unknown, I know it all, everything is A Rose.
Saved or not, once corpus dillecti sinks into the 208 bones, the corpse returns to the Voids
Imagine the reality of going around in circles, revolving around a torrid, burning God of boys
Allowed the screams of childbirth to become immersed in clothes of silk & wool, all my son
Foothills walked up & down The Hill, a highway #49 north or south of a holier Mason-Dixon.
Brimming to the rim to the point of overflowing the effulgence into infinity, wide-open space
Dead or alive, behind bars or in a metal tube can, underground or knife-slashed, happy face
Realm of divinity out of touch, out of reach, out of a rational mind, Nothingness’ divine dye
Blackness absorbed into dust between tiny bytes of golden fleece, the lead turns blue sky.
Big Bang is a Silent Gasp in retrospect, Unknown is all about the rigor mortis’ leftover deal
Happy or not on Earth or in Heaven or Hell, either way as it was, it will be with no return cell
Real or artificial things are mental disorders of the pretentious fodder, gulp don’t swallow it
A bit of sugar helps the medicine go down, all doses to die for, like it or not, doomed to S#it.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Vendredi, Freezember XXVIth MMXXV Anno Domini @ 707 AMPST
{ Reality & Illusion merge to produce Space between Reality & Illusion, what you are & what you’ll be, first to final gasp of gas, Nothing but God, open funk’s junk in the trunk generated via screamin’ groans, licked boots I walked inside of, deep scat, all me, I AM, @stephan. Jacked this little ditty up while jammin’ to @Elvis #HITS nobody heard on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/Q7Z1SMP3z74?si=ABr8wGtpy5MW_IZ1 }
F I N I S
W.W.A.R.D.?
@ElviS
sTRANGER things?